


Growing Pains and Morality Tales

by scifigrl47



Series: Tales of the Bots [15]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something big is coming, and the Avengers have to decide what side they're going to be on.</p><p>Back home in the tower, DJ's got choices of his own to make.  Growing up isn't easy, but he's pretty sure he's got a handle on it now.  His parents certainly don't, but DJ's got this.  He can handle things.</p><p>He's pretty sure, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story of how DJ Stark met his friends from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and how his relationship with Val and Franklin developed. The kids are reaching the teenage years. It's not... Going well. Tony is pretty sure DJ agreed to skip the awkward years between 11 and 17. Steve disapproves of trying to convince DJ into 'skipping' years.
> 
> Author's note: DJ does not age normally. He remained at his 'starting' age for a while, then aged in accordance with his mental development and comfort level. When he met Franklin and Val, he would have appeared closer to Val's age than Franklin's, but by the time we reach the main timeframe of this story, he is roughly equivalent to Franklin's age of twelve.
> 
> He is entering the awkward teenage years. Tony is dreading it. He is dreading it SO HARD.
> 
> Warnings for some general, canon appropriate violence, free floating child endangerment, and serious [non-graphic] injury.

The feed was a mess.

The image flickered in and out, systems disturbed and bursts of energy whiting out the screen. There was sound only sporadically, mostly the sound of stone and metal groaning and crashing to the ground. The huge, open lobby of what had once been Stark Tower was in ruins, shards of glass and stone lying broken on every surface. The huge fountain had been blown apart, water splattering out across the cracked marble floor.

The feed flickered, and came back after a moment of all-encompassing darkness. When it did, the visual shook, as if the camera recording it was shaking in its housing. What was left of the lobby's windows collapsed, glass crashing to the ground as a huge, misshapen shape of a robot pushed its way in. 

It was ten to twelve feet tall, big enough to scrape against low, sagging portions of the ceiling, and heavy enough to make everything rattle across the floor in its wake. Huge feet came up, and crashed down, slow and unstoppable. First one pushed its way into the lobby, then another, and another. They moved as one, their limbs swinging in a strange sort of symmetry. When they stopped, it was as one. When they spoke, robotic voices crackling from unseen speakers, it was as one.

“Identify target.” The words shook the air, and the feed flickered. “Identify.”

In the center of the cracked, fractured floor, facing the phalanx of giant robots, was a child.

He was perhaps eleven or twelve years old, absurdly small against the backdrop of the decimated lobby. His thin shoulders rose and fell in quick, sharp bursts, his face marked by blood at the temple and beneath his nose. It had dripped down to his t-shirt, splattered across the front, and matting his dark hair to the side of his head. He was pale, his eyes feverish bright beneath lowered brows, but his chin was up, his jaw a sharp, hard line.

There was metal wrapped around his hands, fragments going up past his wrists, gold and silver and bright red that glinted in the shafts of low light. Wires spun around his arms, like veins, like branching lightning, but the gauntlets on his hands were solid. 

There was static, a burst, and then another, and when the feed stabilized again, the boy's lips were moving, the words barely audible over the whir of servos, the creak of metal.

“-We stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds.” The words had a strange, uneven cadence, like a half remembered poem, but each word was solid, hard and unrelenting. “When the mob and the-” He stared up, his hands flexing at his sides, the metal on his fingers rattling as his hands formed red fists. “And the press and the whole WORLD tell you to move-”

One of the massive bots shifted forward, and the boy's eyes slid in that direction. A light broke from its moorings, sparks crackling across the feed, and it went out for a second. The visual gone, there were only the words, continuing on, an unforgiving march of syllables.

“Your job is to plant yourself. Like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world-”

The boy went silent, and the feed rolled back, flicking over itself until it stabilized. The boy was standing, still and solid and alone in the middle of the smoky remains of the lobby. He looked up, and smiled. “And tell the whole world- No.”

He stepped forward, one foot slicing through the fog of dust and smoke that covered the floor, and it hit with the sound of metal on stone. “You move.”

The robot in the lead shifted forward. “Target identified.” One hand came up, huge metal fingers reaching for the boy. “Surrender, or be destroyed.”

The boy crouched, his hands spread at his sides, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. He was breathing fast, his body jerking with the force of it, but he didn't flinch and he didn't look away.

“Get out.” His lips pulled back, his teeth bared. “Of my home.”

Then he launched himself upwards, the red metal boots roaring with a sudden, explosive burst of power, and he was airborne.

The feed went black.

*

-Seven Years Earlier-

The first time he went past, Sue Storm thought she'd imagined it.

She'd caught only the barest glimpse of movement, out of the corner of her eye, but she had instincts by now. Instincts for small people who shouldn't be playing around large, dangerous pieces of equipment without supervision. No matter what their father said.

But by the time she'd turned her head, she'd found the gap between the workbenches empty.

Sue took a step in that direction, her body bending at the waist, her head tilting down. She steadied herself with one hand on the top of the workbench as she checked around the edge, her head swinging first one way, then the other. Her eyes narrowed. There was no one there.

“Sue?”

She straightened up. “Sorry, were you saying something?” she asked Tony.

“Well, yes, I'm always saying something,” Tony said, waving a hand through the air. Sue leaned back against the workbench, her arms crossed over her chest, amused despite herself. Tony was on a roll, and that was always amusing to her.

“I know,” Sue said, smiling to take the sting out of the words, “that's why I stop paying attention, Tony, it takes you a while to get around to your point.”

“That's when I even HAVE a point,” Tony said, nodding. “Are you certain that Reed needs us on this one?” He turned his head back towards the holographic schematic that was floating at eye level in front of him. “We're booked up right now, very busy, it's hard for-”

“Tony-”

“I'll see if I can get him on my calendar, it's pretty solid right now, it's things everywhere, you know how-”

She held up a hand. “Tony, it's me asking.”

He stopped, his mouth going into a thin line. “Right.” He took a deep breath and held it, just for a second, then let it out. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Sue said, considering him. “Tony.”

“Present,” he said, half raising a hand.

“Right,” Sue said. “What's wrong?” 

He shoved a hand through his hair. “Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” He stopped, and turned to look at her, his dark eyes narrowing into bright slits. “Why do you think something's wrong?” he asked. 

“You seem...” She stopped, trying to find the right word. “Agitated.” Not quite right, but close enough.

“God, no, I'm fucking exhausted, I haven't slept in like-” He rotated a hand in mid-air. “Two days now? I don't even know, it's exhausting, I'm exhausted, and it's your fault.”

Sue blinked, thrown for a moment, then she realized he wasn't talking to her. She turned, following his gaze, and yes, that absolutely was a little boy standing right next to her.

“No,” he said to Tony, and Sue had no idea how he'd gotten up next to her without her noticing, but he was there now, inches from her side, a beautiful little boy with huge dark eyes and a wide smile. 

“Yes,” Tony said. 

The boy seemed to have lost interest in Tony and was now just grinning up at Sue, his fingers wrapped in the fabric of his bright blue shirt. There was a white star in the middle of his chest, and he was wearing a pair of pink shorts with little purple arrows on both sides of the legs. “Hi,” he said.

Sue realized that she was staring at him, her mouth hanging open. She gave her head a quick shake and crouched down. "Hello, there," she said, giving the little boy a smile. He smiled back, and her mind was going a mile a minute. There were so many questions, she didn't even know where to start. She opened her mouth. “Where are your shoes?” That, at least, was a logical question with an answer she could probably understand.

“Gone,” he said, and Tony snorted.

“Probably gone down the trash compactor, he's... Not a fan of shoes,” Tony said, as if this was a normal conversation for him to be having.

The boy smiled, bright and easy, and held up a hand. Sue blinked at it, momentarially confused. 

"He wants a high five," Tony explained, running a hand through his hair. "And he's very stubborn, give in with grace or he'll follow you around with one hand up in the air and that gets weird, I don't need that, it's-” He sighed. “It just looks bad, we try to avoid it.”

Sue tapped her hand gently against the boy's. He grinned, wide and bright, and bounced off across the workshop, ducking around Tony's legs and past the workbench. “Smoothie!”

“No smoothies,” Tony said, “you haven't finished recalibrating the-” He stopped. “Aaaaaand he's gone. Why do I bother? Seriously. Why? He doesn't listen, it's all I can do to keep him from lighting something on fire, and one of these days, he's going to do that, and tell Steve it was me, and Steve will believe him, because-” He threw his hands up. “We're sleeping tonight,” he yelled across the workshop. “Because I'm losing it!”

“No!” The word had a giggle to it, and Sue slowly straightened up.

“Right, this is-”

“Tony,” she said, catching his attention. Tony looked at her, blinking. Sue took a deep breath. “There's a child. In your workshop.”

“Yeah, Steve was supposed to have him today, but there was that thing at the UN, and we're trying not to have any more international incidents this month, so-”

“Tony!” Sue snapped, and Tony stopped. “Why... There's-” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Child. I can't- There's-”

“Right. DJ.” Tony pointed after the boy. "That's... DJ. You've met him before," he said.

Sue braced her hands against the edge of the workbench. "No, Tony," she said, very carefully. "I haven't."

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping a wary eye on her. "Yes, you have. Haven't you?” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I could have sworn that you-"

She cut him off. "I would've remembered, Tony. Trust me. I would have-" Her eyes slid after DJ, who was now perched on a little ladder slash stool in front of the blender, punching buttons with a great deal of enthusiasm. "I would have remembered there being a child here. In your." She clutched at her forehead, something like terror sweeping over her. “Oh, god, there's a child in your workshop.”

"Yes, there is, he likes it here, and yes, it seems like that's the sort of thing you'd remember, but he's, there's a thing on him, Stephen Strange did something, I still don't-” Sue stared at him. Tony stared back. “What?” he asked.

“Tell me-” She stopped, her eyes falling closed as she took a deep breath. She held up both hands in front of her, spread wide. “Tony, tell me you didn't-” She stopped again, and Tony waited, one hand braced on the workbench, one eyebrow arched.

“I love how you try to be diplomatic,” he said with a grin.

“You're surprisingly sensitive,” Sue said. 

Tony grinned. “I'm very delicate,” he agreed. He reached for a circuit board. “Spit it out, Storm.”

Sue gave up. “Did you build yourself a child?”

Tony stopped, his eyes going wide. “Huh,” he said at last. “Wow. I mean, yes, but-”

Sue pressed both hands to her face. “Oh, God,” she mumbled through her fingers.

“I mean, I technically did,” Tony said. He leaned against the workbench. “Wow. Now that you say it, yes. I guess I did.” He straightened up. “He's kind of a lab accident, I mean, a lot of kids aren't precisely planned, but DJ does take it to an entirely new level, which is kind of funny when you-” He glanced up, and caught the look on her face. Tony arched his eyebrows. “Not funny?”

Sue leaned in. "Tony. Did you build a child down here?”

He paused. His mouth opened. Closed. "Well, not HERE, precisely. Cambridge."

She stared. He stared back. "Cambridge. England?" she asked, because no further details seemed forthcoming.

"Cambridge. Massachusetts," he corrected. "MIT. You know this. Reed has sweatshirts. Reed has so many sweatshirts. And I think I've seen them all."

"You did not-" Sue stood up, pressing both hands to her face. "Tony. What did you DO?"

There was a faint tug on the hem of her shirt, and she looked down. DJ offered her a tall silver cup of greenish sludge. "Dummy," he said. 

Sue took it. "He is, but-"

"No, HE is," Tony said. He pointed a screwdriver at DJ. "He's Dummy." Sue looked at him, looked back at DJ. DJ nodded. She looked back at Tony. Tony sighed. "He's Dummy. My bot." He waved a hand at the rest of the workshop. "You and Butterfingers." The two bots, busy on the other side of the room, wheeled around at the sound of their names, their cameras coming up. Tony pointed at DJ. "And Dummy."

Sue stared at him, then down at DJ. DJ threw up his hands with a broad grin. "Magic!" he crowed, with so much enthusiasm that it startled a laugh out of her. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but he seemed pleased with the reaction.

"Magic?" she asked Tony from between her fingers.

He huffed out a deep sigh. "Magic," he said, the word tinged with pained resignation. "Fuck my life."

"True!" DJ said, hopping back towards the blender. Without even looking, Tony snagged him by the back of his shirt, dragging him to a protesting halt. DJ's head tipped up. "Smoothie?"

"Did you wash your hands?" Tony asked him.

DJ held up his hands, his little face screwing up as he considered the filthy palms. Then he reached back and wiped both of them along the side of Tony's leg. "Yes," he said.

"Wow," Tony said. "Wow. That was, that wasn't even GOOD lying. That was bad lying, that was pathetic lying, that was just sad, that's what that was, Sue, give me that before he poisons you."

"Nooooooooooo," DJ said, throwing the full weight of his body against Tony's side. "Fine."

"It is not fine, you're a filthy little ragamuffin."

"Raggle muffler!" DJ crowed.

Tony nodded. "Very close. That was, that was a good attempt. Sue, give me the smoothie, he can make another one once he's exposed himself to water."

DJ's face scrunched up in an expression of disgust, and Sue reached for her purse. "Come here," she said, digging into one of the interior pockets. DJ looked up at Tony, who shrugged.

"Take the risk, kid, she's usually trustworthy."

"Thank you, so much, for that vote of confidence." Sue pulled out a pack of baby wipes and held them up. "Come here, I'll clean you up without water.”

That was apparently enough to whet his curiosity, and DJ hopped over. "Hands," she said, with a smile, and glanced over at Tony again before holding them out. Sue scrubbed lightly at one, and then the other, taking a moment to tickle his palm with the wipe and run it between each finger. When she was done, she leaned back. "There we go. Ready for high fives and smoothies."

DJ considered his hands. Then he held them up towards Tony. "So that's what color your skin should be," Tony said. "I never knew. What with the paint and the grease and the filth." Unconcerned, DJ grinned up at him, and Tony smiled back. "What do you say, bratbot?"

"Thank," DJ said to Sue.

"You're welcome," she said. She reached for the smoothie cup, and Tony got there first. "Excuse me, I don't think that's yours."

Tony's eyebrows arched as he took a sip. "Think of me as a poison tester." He nodded at DJ. "Want to make her another one?"

"Yes!"

"Right, you're easily amused, this is good, because two pounds of frozen blueberries can distract you for like six hours and god knows I need those six hours." Tony pointed at the blender, and DJ was off like a shot, bare feet pounding over the concrete floor. Halfway there, Butterfingers rolled into his path, and DJ jumped up, grabbing hold of the bot's support strut and pulling himself up. Butterfingers, apparently pleased with his new burden, continued on his way with DJ still hanging from his arm.

Sue watched him go. "Magic," she said, her head rolling in Tony's direction.

One of his shoulders lifted in a half shrug. "Magic," he said. "Some asshole apparently has a hard on for making my life a living hell and turned my bot into a little boy. We're pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be permanent, but-" He made a face. "Dummy had other ideas. So now we've got a kid. Who's sometimes not a kid."

Sue nodded. "Riiiiiiiiiiight," she said, drawing out the word. "You. Have a kid."

"Trust me, no one is more traumatized and horrified by this than I am," Tony said. He drained the smoothie. He gave Sue a thin lipped smile. "I would've thought that Reed would've told you about this. Because Reed absolutely knows about him."

"Please don't depend on Reed to tell me anything that doesn't directly relate to his work, your work, or the impending end of the world," Sue said with a faint smile. "I love the man, but sometimes the little stuff can slip his mind. And everything qualifies as 'little stuff' to Reed."

"I've noticed that," Tony said. He watched DJ as the boy carefully added fruit to the blender, his tongue sticking out between his lips, one hand braced on the counter to balance himself. Tony's lips twitched. "He'll be more useful later. Right now, Steve won't let us do any welding at all when he's like this. Something about how very, very flammable he is."

"Pretty sure that's not his main concern," Sue said. She looked at Tony, considering him. "Does he go to school?"

Tony was already shaking his head. "No, he's-" His fingers rattled against the metal side of the smoothie cup, a smooth run up and down as he flexed each digit. "He's staying here with us, for now." The cup was set down with a very final sounding click. "He doesn't leave the tower. We can barely get him to leave the workshop, some days. This is all he's known for a long time, and he has-" 

He stopped, turning back to the bench. "We've got an educational proposal on file with the state. We're home schooling him."

Sue weighed her options, sensing the minefield all around her, even if she had no idea where the particular explosives were. She'd navigated similar fields before, and the easiest way to deal with them was to sidestep them completely. "It's not just education, Tony," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "There's socialization."

"He's social. Look at him. He's so social that if you held out a packet of baby wipes he'd probably follow you home," Tony said.

"He needs a peer group," Sue said. "He needs friends." Tony made a face, and Sue leaned over, trying to catch his eye. "Tell me he has friends, Tony."

Tony's eyes twitched in her direction, then back to his work. "He's got Clint," he said.

"Friends his own age," Sue said, smiling.

"I hate to repeat myself, but again, Clint-" Tony started, and she picked up a magazine from the bench, rolled it up, and swatted him in the head with it. Tony twitched to the side, clutching his head as if he'd been mortally wounded. He stared at her, his mouth hanging open "What- What was that?"

She swatted him again. "Bad dad," she said, and the look he gave her was so incensed that it was hard to keep from laughing. She folded her arms over her chest, idly swinging the magazine against her shoulder. “He needs other children, Tony.”

His head tipped forward and he considered her from under the hard line of his eyebrows. “Right. I'll get right on that, Sue, that's a great idea, I'll, I don't know, I'll hire some children, where do you rent those, Jarvis, can you-”

“This is going to blow your mind,” Sue interrupted, “but I know where you can find a couple of kids. Ones just about his size.” Tony looked at her, his face creasing in confusion, and Sue let out a sigh. “You do remember I have children, don't you, Tony?”

He blinked. “Of course I do,” he said. “I... Sent them each a gift when they were born, right?”

“You did,” she said, drawing the words out. “And I should be hitting you for that, as well.”

“What, why-”

“Do you remember what you sent them?” Sue asked. Tony considered that. “You opened legal funds for them. That was what you sent two babies, Tony. A trust fund for legal fees.”

Tony nodded. “That was practical of me.” But he took a big step to the side, safely out of reach. “I don't see what your problem is, all of my friends would love a legal fund!”

“I'd like to imagine they won't get sued as often as most of the people we know,” Sue said.

“Yeah, I'm sorry, but Reed-”

Sue held up a hand. “I'm well aware,” she said. “And you're not sorry.”

“All right, I'm not sorry at all, but you married him, you know-”

“Watch it, buster,” Sue said. She smiled. “You have a child.”

“I have a kid,” Tony agreed. “It's working out better than expected. I blame Steve.”

“I'm sure he's used to it.”

DJ poked his head over the top of the workbench. He grinned at Sue, holding up a smoothie cup. “Yours,” he said.

She smiled back, her face going soft . “Really?” she said. She took the cup from him. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” DJ said, his lips forming the single word with care. He looked up at Tony, and Tony reached out and ruffle DJ's dark hair. Giggling, DJ leaned into the contact. “Help?”

“Yeah, no, you're useless like this,” Tony said, picking up a screwdriver. He tapped DJ on the tip of his nose with it. “Tiny and squishy and useless.”

DJ leaned against his legs, his head tipping up to stare at Tony. “Like you.”

“I, too, am squishy and useless, albeit a little bit bigger than you.”

“Not much,” DJ said.

“Hey, now,” Tony said, and Sue choked on a laugh. DJ grinned at her, clearly appreciating the audience. Tony, for his part, scooped DJ up and bumped his forehead against DJ's. “Brat,” he said, his eyes narrowed.

“Yep,” DJ agreed. He leaned his head on Tony's shoulder. “Help?” he asked again.

“Later,” Tony said. He kissed DJ's cheek, giving him a tight hug, and then lowered him back to the floor. “You can help me put together the new chestplate, okay?”

DJ nodded. “When?” His fingers latched onto the hem of his shirt, tugging hard at the fabric. Sue sipped her smoothie, curious.

Tony braced a hand on the counter, his mouth going tight. “Right. Schedules. You like to know what's happening, so you can prepare, right?” DJ nodded. “Okay.” He glanced up at the plans. “In one hour,” he said, looking back down. “Okay?” DJ considered that, and nodded, but his face was creased with worry. Tony took a deep breath and tried again. “Play for one hour, then you can help me with the chestplate, then we need to get ready for dinner.”

“If you would like,” Jarvis said, “I can give you a schedule, and a clock. Then if you are unsure of what is happening, or you require reassurance as to what is expected of you, you will be able to check.”

DJ nodded, his head bouncing up and down. “Please.”

“Thanks, Jay,” Tony said. “Wanna go to the playroom, brat?”

“Yes,” DJ said, confident now. 

“Can you say good-bye to Sue?”

DJ looked up at her. His big dark eyes blinked slowly, his lashes sweeping down. “Bye,” he said at last.

“Good bye,” she said. “It was very nice meeting you again.”

“Raggle Muffler!” DJ said, and then he bounced out of sight.

“We built his playroom out back,” Tony explained. He boosted himself onto the a stool, bracing his elbows on the workbench. He looked exhausted, but he was smiling anyway. “He's fine.”

“Yes, he is.” Sue took a seat across from Tony. “Let me bring Franklin and Val over. Playdate.”

“Look, I don't think-” Tony shoved a hand through his hair. “He's not...” His voice trailed away, and he glanced across the room towards where DJ had disappeared. “We make it clear to him that he gets to choose what form he takes. Sometimes he's a bot. Sometimes he's a bot for days.” He shrugged, a quick twitch of his shoulders. “There may not be a kid for them to play with, Sue.”

“Oh, yes,” Sue said, trying not to smile. “My kids would just hate that. A robot. That would be just...” She shook her head. “That would be horrible.”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it “That's sarcasm. You're being sarcastic at me.”

“In your general direction, yes.” She reached out, catching his hand in hers. “Tony. Let him try.”

He shook his head. “Look, I just-” He shook his head. “Fine. Okay. I'm sleep deprived and you are stubborn, I know this because you're still married to Reed when a sane or easily dissuaded woman would've filed for divorce years ago, so-”

Sue squeezed his hand. “Saturday.”

Tony sighed. “Saturday.”

*

-Seven years later-

"Well, I think we made real progress today."

Val gave her brother a look. "Really. You think you made progress?" She pushed a strand of pale hair back behind her ear. It promptly slipped back in her face, and she made a sound of annoyance.

"Yes," Franklin said with confidence. "I do."

"With what, exactly?" Val tugged the scrunchie out of her hair and slid it around her wrist as she attempted to corral her hair into a bun again. "You've been lying on your back on the floor eating Pringles straight out of the can all afternoon."

"And I've finished the whole can, that's progress," Franklin said, his tone arch.

Val looked at DJ, her mouth pursed up, her eyebrows arched. DJ shrugged, trying to keep a straight face, and Val gestured at her brother with both hands. "He's fine," DJ said, ducking his head over his work. "He's just tired."

"He's always tired now," Val said, reaching for the bag of pretzels that was lying between the welding torch and the cans of epoxy. She stuck a pretzel rod between her teeth and went back to assembling the metal plates. "Always."

"Not always," Franklin said. He didn't even raise his head to say it, which didn't help his cause.

"ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLWAYS," Val said, her voice rising to a painful pitch. DJ tried not to flinch, his back teeth locking as he held himself still. Val put a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Deej."

"'S okay," he said, and it was. It mostly was. He sucked in a slow breath from between his teeth, trying to focus on the wiring in front of him. That, at least, was orderly and understandable, easy for him to compartmentalize and control. He slid a fingertip along the length of a wire, tracing its path from the power source. "We did work." It wasn't quite right, he knew it, even as he was saying it, but he couldn't quite work out where the missing words were.

Luckily, Val was used to him by now. "Yes," she said, her chin tipped up. "We did. You and me. WE did work." She kicked one leg out, her foot swinging in a slow, easy arc. "He didn't. Because he is useless."

"You're like NINE," Franklin said.

"I'm ALMOST ten," Val said. Her foot thumped into the side of the workbench, and DJ measured the swing of her leg, anticipating the next impact, trying to fit it into the pattern of their breathing and their work. Sometimes that was easy. Today, it wouldn't quite fit. He frowned down at his work, trying to figure out what was missing.

"Almost doesn't count," Franklin said, and DJ decided it wasn't a good idea to bring up how often Franklin talked about being ALMOST thirteen. He got the feeling that it wouldn't be appreciated. He flipped the piece he was working on, and it hit the bench perfectly in time with the next thump of Val's leg. Some of the strain went out of his shoulders. He could make sense of this, if he tried.

"Fine, I'm nine," Val said, her head swinging back and forth with enough force to send her bun bouncing on the back of her head. “And I'm still more useful than you.” She grinned at DJ, her freckled nose crinkling up. “Right?”

“Right,” DJ said, smiling back. From the floor, Franklin groaned, and DJ's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Well, she is.”

“It doesn't matter!” Franklin's hands came up, a sharp flail of movement. “We need to be united against the scourge of the little sister! You are supposed to be on my side! Unity, Deej!”

DJ considered that, turning the words, and their logic, over in his mind. “Why?” he asked at last.

Franklin's eyes scrunched closed. “Because!” he said.

Confused, DJ looked at Val, who was biting her lower lip to hide a smile. “Because you're both boys,” she said, with her usual bluntness. DJ liked Val and her bluntness. He liked asking a question and getting a simple answer.

Sometimes, he was really grateful for Val.

“Not because we're both boys,” Franklin said. “C'mon, it's not that-”

“No girls allowed,” Val said, and her foot thumped against the side of the workbench. “That IS what you meant.”

Franklin pushed himself up into a sitting position, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I like girls just fine,” he said. “You're not a girl. You're a SISTER.”

“I'm your sister, I'm not DJ's sister,” Val pointed out. “To DJ, I'm just a girl.” Her foot hit again, a little faster than it had last time, and DJ's head tipped to the side. “And I get to be friends with him, too, just because you think you're all grown up, doesn't mean I get left behind, Franklin, it's RUDE.” The word was said with sharp finality. Rude was bad. Everyone knew rude was bad.

“I'm a teenager now,” Franklin pointed out. “And DJ's kind of a teenager, he's my age, and that means we might not want to hang out with little kids, Val.”

“You're TWELVE, which is not a teen, it's a pre-teen,” Val said with a smirk, her foot hitting once, twice, a third time in rapid succession, faster and faster, “and you're covered in Pringle crumbs and floor dirt, so I'm not sure you're ready to be an adult.”

Franklin batted at his chest, brushing away the crumbs. “Look, I-”

“Stop hurting her,” DJ said, and both of them went silent.

Val's head went down over the plating in front of her. Her shoulders were hunched, her body tucked in tight. “He's not hurting me,” she said, her voice quiet.

DJ looked at Franklin, who was scowling at his sister's back. DJ set his screwdriver down and pointed at Val. Franklin dragged his legs in, the movement awkward and unsteady, and pushed himself to his feet. “Sorry, Val,” he said.

Val scrubbed at her nose with the back of one wrist, her face wrinkling up. “No, you're not,” she said. “You're just sorry DJ is mad at you.”

“Not mad,” DJ said, and paused to think about it. What was he? It was hard to put the complicated things in his head into words, but he could do it. “Just...” He smiled at Franklin. “Want you not to fight.”

“You ask the impossible,” Franklin said, even as he crept up behind Val, his hands up above his head. Before Val could realize he was there, he was throwing his arms around her waist, hugging her tight and lifting her bodily off of her stool. Val let out a shriek, her legs kicking wildly, but she was grinning, too.

Franklin spun her in a circle. “You are so loud,” he said, before setting her back on her feet.

“Yeah, well, so're you,” she said, right before the playroom door opened.

“Is someone being murdered in here?” Tony asked, leaning in. “Because it sounds like someone's being murdered, and I have to object to that, there are rules, and all of you have at least one parent who will notice that you're missing and or dead, so let's not do that.” He arched an eyebrow at them. “Right?”

“Right,” Val said, at the same time Franklin said, “Sorry.” 

Tony pointed at them. “You two. Not to be trusted. Inherently untrustworthy. I'm watching you.” As Val giggled, and Franklin rolled his eyes, Tony looked at DJ. “Check in.”

DJ took a deep breath. “Good,” he said, smiling at Tony, because his dad always smiled back at him, always, and even if 'good' was a lie before, that smile made it true. “Dinner soon?”

“Dinner'll be in forty-five minutes, so lay off the snackage,” Tony said. He crossed the room, giving a ball an idle kick as he passed, and lifting a stack of books off of a stool so he could sit down. He folded his arms on the edge of DJ's workbench. “Richards-Storm spawn, your mom says you can stay for dinner, if you want to.”

“DJ, do you want company for dinner, or are you tired of people?” Val asked DJ.

DJ thought about that. “Company,” he said, smiling at her, because he could say that he was tired, that he was overwhelmed, and she wouldn't be hurt by it. “Please.”

“What're you having?” Franklin asked Tony.

“I'd call you rude, but I think you deserve credit for asking the tough questions,” Tony said. “Bruce made moussaka, a giant-” He gestured with his hands. “There's like a tray of moussaka, so we have plenty. And Steve's picking up some spanakopita, and those little, you know, the grape leaf things.”

“Dolmas?” Val asked.

“Something like that, yes, good, you may stick around and do the verbal heavy lifting for us,” Tony told her. He leaned over the workbench, his eyes narrowing on DJ's work. “What are you up to?” he asked.

“Fixing,” DJ said, holding up the piece of the gauntlet he'd been working on.

“Armor's supposed to stay in the workshop,” Tony said, and DJ made a face. “Yes, yes, your life is horrible and painful and so very unfair.”

“It IS,” DJ said, trying not to smile.

Tony ruffled his hair with one rough hand, and DJ leaned into the contact. “Bratbot,” Tony told him, and kissed him on top of the head. “If everyone's staying for dinner, start picking up, and put my armor back where it belongs, Deej. You've got thirty minutes to finish up, and get washed up, because I suspect you're all filthy, and we have opinions about that.”

“Only okay if it's you?” DJ asked, and Tony gave him a look.

“I can still have you boxed up and put in a museum somewhere,” he said, hopping to his feet. “You'd make a good exhibit. I might get a tax write-off for it.” 

“Museum won't take me,” DJ said.

“I'll open a museum, even bigger tax break there, I'll just call it 'The Stark Gallery of Failed Projects,' and it will contain only you because everything else I've ever done has been a resounding success, everything else was perfect, you're the only exception.”

DJ grinned at him. “That,” he said, reaching for a pair of pliers, “is lie.” He stopped, concentrated on putting the words in order, in the right order. “Is a lie.”

“No, I'm quite certain I'd remember if there were any other failures in my long and distinguished career, it'll just be you in a giant marble building, we'll throw some neo-classical columns up, arches, portcullises, that kind of shit, it'll be very, very impressive, and then it'll just be you sitting on a little marble podium and-”

“Steve will veto,” DJ said, and he could hear Val giggling, even though she had both hands clapped over her mouth. Franklin was just rolling his eyes, because he was too cool for this, or so he kept telling them.

“He doesn't see the genius of some of my better ideas, it's true,” Tony said. He rubbed DJ's hair one more time, his hand lingering there. “So maybe it's better if we don't tell him.”

“What do we get if we don't tell him?” Val asked.

“Are you blackmailing me, small Storm-Richards?” Tony asked her, one eyebrow arching. “Your mom would not approve.”

“We could get into who tells who what,” Val agreed, folding her arms on the workbench, her eyelashes fluttering. “Or we could just agree that everyone that keeps their mouth shut get extra dessert.”

“That does seem easier,” Tony agreed, his lips twitching. “Fine. I'll find some ice cream or something.”

“Pie?” DJ asked hopefully.

“Clean up and get upstairs to set the table,” Tony said, ambling towards the door, “and I'll see if we've got anything in the freezer.” He glanced back. “Thirty minutes, various disasters.”

“Got it,” DJ said, and got a thumb's up for his trouble. His dad slipped out, and he let out a breath he hadn't even known he had been holding.

“Your dad's okay,” Franklin said, taking the stool that Tony had just vacated.

“Yes,” DJ agreed. He glanced at Franklin. “You?”

Franklin shrugged. “Mine are okay,” he said. “Still arguing about school.”

DJ nodded. “Still want to go?”

“Yeah, I mean-” Franklin shrugged again, his shoulders hunching up around his ears. “I guess.”

“He does,” Val said, fiddling with a pair of pliers. She looked at Franklin. “Mom's worried.”

“Mom worries about everything,” Franklin said. He picked up a screwdriver and poked it at Val's hand. Val tried to grab the tip of the screwdriver with her pliers, a smile sliding over her face as she made them snap like metal jaws. “Like, I'm supposed to start high school SOON and she and dad are still arguing about it.”

“They have time,” Val said. “Like, you're not QUITE ready for high school, Deej.”

“Xavier's takes students as young as thirteen,” Franklin said. He picked up one of DJ's tools, turning it over idly between his hands. “I mean, earlier, sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Val said. She put down her pliers. “But mostly for kids with nowhere else to go, right?”

He swung around in his seat. “Mostly.”

“You're still talking?” DJ asked. He stopped, trying again. “To them?”

“To Professor Xavier and the X-Men?” Franklin shrugged. He shrugged a lot now. Like things didn't matter. DJ was pretty sure that things still mattered, and he wasn't sure why Franklin pretended they didn't. “Sometimes.”

“Mom and dad don't know,” Val said, leaning her chin on her her hands. “Mom's not going to be happy when she finds out, Franklin.”

“Yeah, I know.” He set the screwdriver back down and braced his elbows on the workbench, his head tipping towards DJ. “Repairs, huh?”

“Repairs,” DJ agreed. He turned the gauntlet over in his hand. “It IS broken.”

“It is. But you're not giving it back once it's fixed,” Val said. “Are you?” DJ shrugged, and she shook her head. “They're going to figure it out eventually, Deej.”

DJ nodded. “Yes.” But he slipped the gauntlet on, holding his hand out in front of him. The skeletal frame of metal felt familiar against his skin, the weight steadying, calming. He sucked in a breath, and flexed his fingers.

When he looked up, he found Franklin smiling at him. “Worth it, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yes,” DJ repeated, and hopped off his stool. “Clean up time.”

Val heaved an audible sigh, propping her hands on her hips. “You're both going to be in such trouble,” she said.

“Oh, and you're not?” Franklin said, shoving his books back into his backpack. “Really?”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Unlike you,” she said, with a toss of her head, “I don't have any secrets from anybody. Except, of course, yours.”

“Right, and what are you going to demand for keeping them?” Franklin asked.

Her smile stretched into something sly and smug. “Well, if you're offering, I'd take your dessert...”

“I should've known.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

DJ listened to them argue, because that was familiar and comforting and okay. This was an okay fight. This was a fight they could have. He stripped off the gauntlet and turned it over in his hands. The repulsor in the palm was dark and cloudy, but he could fix that.

He could fix any of it. If he had the time. He opened a drawer on the workbench and dropped it in, pushing it all the way to the back. 

With all the others.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Big things go smashy smashy. Just a little canon appropriate violence against robots. But not robots we like, so it's okay.

"You're late."

"I know." DJ resisted the urge to flop on the counter. It was harder than it should've been.

Mackenzie gave him a chiding look, her marker flicking against the side of the cup. "Don't worry, I've got your scone warming."

"Thank you," DJ said. He gave up and flopped on the counter, his arms thrown out in front of him. "You are a good person."

"So my mama says. Ed." She leaned back from the register, flipping the cup in his direction. Ed snagged it from midair without even looking in her direction. “Tall non-fat caramel vanilla latte for the scion."

"You're late," Ed said, his hands already dancing over the controls over the machine.

"I know," DJ said, handing Mackenzie his swipe card without lifting his face off the counter.

She rang him up, her long fingers working the touchscreen with practiced efficiency. There was a small flaw to the brilliant purple polish on her pinkie finger, and DJ wondered how the chip had gotten there. Considering the possibilities was actually pretty calming. 

"You okay?" Mackenzie asked, handing him back his card. She braced her hands on the counter, leaning into them, her head tipped to the side. "You're not your usual bouncy self."

DJ managed a smile. It felt tight on his face, thin, but he kept it in place. People reacted better when he smiled. "Tired," he admitted. He pushed himself upright, ignoring the way his back and shoulders protested the normal, everyday movement. "And achy."

The oven beeped, and Mackenzie reached for a potholder. "Long night?" she asked, as she snagged the scone from the warming oven. She dropped it into a bag and rolled the paper down before tossing it to DJ. He caught it, the familiar weight falling into his hands the way it always did. 

"No. Just... Always achy." He made a face as he shifted his weight forward and back, trying to find a comfortable place in his own body. It seemed to ellude him more and more these days. He sighed. Being a bot was so much easier. "Always."

"Growing pains," Ed said, heating milk with a wide grin. "I spent the summer I turned thirteen in the fetal position, hating every bone in my body. Growth spurts are a bitch." He tamped down the grounds with a sideways flick of his wrist. DJ braced himself against flinching as the machine let out a high pitched whine that only ever seemed to bother him. Ed never even seemed to notice, despite his proximity to the machine. Maybe he was used to it, as unlikely as that seemed to DJ.

"How would you know?" Mackenzie said, leaning against the counter again, claiming the space. Her long braids slid over her shoulder, heavy and dark and gleaming against the crisp blue of her apron. 

"Shocking, but I used to be even shorter than I am now," Ed said, unperturbed. His hands danced as he finished the drink, swift and assured, and he grinned at DJ as he slid it across the counter. "One fat free caramel vanilla latte for the terrifying redhead who lives upstairs." 

DJ considered it. "Did you draw a heart on it?" he asked, slightly dismayed by that.

"Yes." Ed grinned at him, one arm braced on the side of the machine. "I thought you could use the extra kiss up points."

"Rude," Mackenzie said, her lips twitching.

"Honest," Ed said to her, his chin in the air.

"Both," DJ said, looking from the cup to the scone bag and back. His eyes narrowed, he shoved the bag between his teeth. "Fank foo."

"Oh my God, am I that early?" Maya came dashing past him, around the end of the counter and towards the stockroom, the tails of her coat flapping in her wake. "I cannot be that early."

"You're not early," Ed called, wiping down the espresso machine with quick, efficient movements. "He's late."

Maya's head popped back out of the stockroom, her dark eyes narrowed on DJ. "You are so late," she said.

DJ nodded. "Know," he said, around a mouthful of paper. "Know!"

Maya flipped her apron at him. "Well? What are you waiting for? Correr!"

"He can't, Ed made him latte art," Mackenzie said. She shook her head, her arms crossed over her chest. "You're an asshole, Ed."

"I'm HELPING," Ed said, and DJ crept towards the door, the cup cradled between his palms. “I made it extra good. If you're going to show up ten minutes late with coffee, it better be damn good coffee, after all.”

“Good luck!” Maya called after him, and DJ tried not to tense up at that.

Walking across the lobby actually helped. He had a destination, a clear goal. Something to think about other than the confusing mix of things in his head. He could boil everything down to crossing the lobby and avoiding being knocked over by a courier in a rush or an executive hurrying back from a late lunch. He concentrated on keeping the cup still between his hands, on slipping through narrow gaps between people who looked right past him.

Once on the elevator, he slumped against the wall. He fumbled the bag with the scone into the curve of his elbow, and let his eyes fall shut. “Jarvis?”

“Yes?”

“How late am I?”

There was a beat of silence, one that he'd learned to recognize. His eyes opened. “Don't lie.”

“I would never,” Jarvis said, his voice tart.

“You do,” DJ said. “All the time.”

“Occasionally, I might choose a truth that is most comforting to the listener-”

“You lie,” DJ said, his eyes canting upwards towards the ceiling of the elevator. He knew just where the camera was, and even if he couldn't see Jarvis, he felt better knowing that Jarvis could see him. “All the time.”

Another beat, so predictable that it became a source of comfort. Jarvis thinking, in his own lightning fast way, how to phrase what needed to be said. DJ liked knowing that he wasn't the only one who struggled with words, at least sometimes. “I have never lied to you,” Jarvis said at last.

DJ smiled at him. “Yes. You have.” The elevator dinged. “But it's nice. That you do.” He sucked in a breath as the door opened. “How late?”

“Twelve minutes.” Immediate. Assured. Truth.

DJ nodded. “Thank.” The rest of the words caught in his throat and he hated it. He took another breath, trying to focus on that, on the steady, controllable flow of air. In. Out. In. Out. “Thank. You.”

“You are welcome. Hurry, now.”

The studio was small and comfortable, with a wall of mirrors along one wall and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline across from it. Music swirled through the space, the precise, measured march of notes. Natasha was at the barre, one long leg balanced delicately along the polished wood, her body swept forward over it. She didn't even look towards the door, she just continued with her stretching, her left arm sweeping through the air in a perfect arc. 

“You're late.”

“I know!” It came out too loud, too sharp, and he stopped, shock and confusion sweeping over him. He struggled to get himself back under control. “I... I know.”

Nat didn't react. She just pivoted on one foot, the movement smooth and easy. “Then come and stretch, please.”

He nodded. “Coffee,” he said, that word an effort. He set the cup down, next to the mirror, where she was unlikely to knock hit over. Which was foolish. Natasha wasn't clumsy or awkward, the way he was, she never tripped over her own feet or lost her balance. She moved, and it was deliberate, it was always deliberate, grace and control.

DJ lowered himself down next to the cup, doing his best to put his legs where they should be, to follow the routine she'd laid out for him years before. It never really got easier, but it was calming in its own way. It was a way to think about things, in a structured way. A hand. An arm. The angle of his back. The way he held his chin. The way his muscles pulled tight, then relaxed, each movement making things better. Making it easier.

When he was done, DJ flopped onto his back with a groan. There was a moment of silence, and then Natasha was lowering herself down next to him. She picked up the cup. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” DJ said, staring up at the ceiling. 

Natasha leaned into his line of sight, her red curls framing her face like a halo. “What's wrong?” she asked, her face half hidden behind her cup. But her eyes were soft, and her voice was kind, and DJ felt some of the tension go out of his shoulders.

He sucked in a careful breath. “Late,” he said. She nodded, sipping her drink, and DJ rolled his head in her direction. “I'm... Not late.”

She paused. “You didn't used to be,” she agreed. She folded her legs beneath her, one pale foot tucked neatly under her knee. “You like schedules. You like to know when things are happening, and where you should be, don't you?”

“Where everyone will be,” DJ said. His fingers dug into the hem of his shirt, tracing over each of the stitches, one by one. Resisting the urge to count. “Yes.”

Natasha set her cup down and reached for the bag. “Do you need more warnings? A better way of tracking what's happening?” she asked. The scone was still warm; as soon as she took it out of the bag, DJ could smell it, the heady aroma of sugar and cinnamon. 

“I forget,” he said. He frowned. “Or. Maybe, I think too much.” That wasn't right. Frustrated, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Too long?”

Natasha touched his wrist, the barest brush of her fingertips against his hand, and DJ peeked out at her from between his fingers. She was smiling, just a little, her eyes half closed as she studied him. “It's okay,” she said. “Take a breath.” He sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. She nodded. “We'll figure it out. All of us.” 

She broke off a piece of her scone, holding it out to him. “Okay?”

He took it from her fingers. “Okay,” he agreed, and popped it into his mouth. It tasted good, but more than that, better than that, it tasted familiar. He chewed with care, trying to draw the small taste out. “Ed made a heart.”

Her lips curled up. “I saw that.” She waited until he swallowed, then broke the scone in half and handed him the larger piece. “I know we planned to run through your routine today,” she said, before taking another sip of her latte. “And maintaining your schedule is important.”

She set the cup down on the floor next to him. “But do you feel like doing that today? Or do you want to do something else?”

DJ blinked. “I... Don't know,” he admitted at last.

“And that's just fine.” She curled a leg under her, rocking forward and standing up with the sort of grace DJ couldn't even understand, let alone attempt to replicate. “Doing what you expected to do, that's always going to be easier. But you still have the choice.” She leaned over, offering him a hand. “That's the important thing. It's your schedule. You can change it, if you want to. If you need to.”

He thought about that. “Jazz?” he asked at last.

Natasha smiled at him. “Why don't we try that? And if it doesn't work, if it's wrong, we can always go back to working on your routine. Okay?”

He took a breath, thinking about that. Natasha waited, patient as she ever was, and DJ took her hand, clasping her fingers tightly. “Okay.”

*

"That one of yours?"

Tony banked hard left, slipping in the narrow gap between two buildings. "You know, I know you're kidding, but I think, for the record, it's good for me to state that no. No, that is definitely not one of mine."

"Well, the paint job alone," Clint said, his voice laconic and amused. "You never did strike me as a man who favored pink."

"And that is a lot of pink," Natasha said. Both of them were on SHIELD motorcycles, somewhere down on the ground, and he didn't like it, he didn't like not knowing where everyone was. 

"It truly is." Tony could only catch glimpses of it, flashing in and out as he cut between buildings, like an old, slow projector, rolling individual frames of film far, far too slowly. It was mechanical; it was clearly some sort of bot, big and bulky and moving with the sort of awkward, heavy tread of something out of an old sci-fi movie from the fifties. Back when they still thought that the things that came from beyond the stars would be slow and clumsy and dumb.

Tony missed that ignorance.

The sound of shattering glass echoed down the empty street, and Tony swept low, under a fire escape dotted with potted plants, coming close enough to a window that the curtains were sucked out in his wake. It was New York. Things were close. Tight. Even this high, there wasn't much space to maneuver, there wasn't much of a margin for error.

Whatever that thing was, it wasn't suited for New York. No matter who had made it, it was alien here, it was a lumbering, brightly colored menace.

He was pretty sure he was going to end up getting blamed for this. Which really, really pissed him off.

Tony rolled hard, cutting between two buildings, finding a space so narrow that he could if he'd rolled flat, his shoulder would've clipped the masonry. “Coulson, tell me you've found out something about this. Please. You can make me happy very easily here, just tell me-”

“Still working on it.” Phil's voice was clipped, tense. In the background, Tony could hear Bruce's voice, fielding questions from the SHIELD teams. “For now, hold the perimeter. It may not be hostile.”

“I'm not sure what definition of 'hostile' we're going with here,” Bruce said, a vibration running through the words, “but from here, from, uh, from the distance I've got on it, it seems pretty, you know- It seems hostile, Phil.”

“Clear the streets and hold your distance,” Steve said. Tony spared a glance for the street below him, catching a glimpse of his familiar blue clad form. SHIELD agents and police officers were moving everywhere, scrambling over the streets like ants. But it was Steve that everyone followed, the civilians spilling out in his wake like he was the Pied Piper, the only point of reference they had in a world gone mad. “Iron Man, what's it doing?”

“Nothing,” Thor said. He was holding the far perimeter, crackling lightning darting through the air in his wake. He matched Tony's movements, but for now, he held back, watching. “It does nothing but frighten those below.”

Tony scanned the data streaming across the HUD. “Actually, it's doing quite a bit.” He banked hard to the side, sweeping a wide arc in front of the robot. “Hey there, Stampy. Come here often?”

“Are you... Flirting with it?” Bruce asked. He sounded tired, and Tony grinned.

“New tech's sexy, Banner, don't kinkshame me.” The robot's steps paused, its head turning to focus on Tony. The instant it locked on, the alarms in the armor went nuts, everything going off at once. “Jay, kill the Klaxons, I'm aware of the threat.” He swooped in low, and shot up right in front of the robot, well within reach.

“Iron Man!” Steve snapped. “Pull back!”

But the robot had already turned away from him, stepping around Tony's hovering form and continuing up the street. “Don't worry, Cap. It's not interested in me,” Tony said. He flipped around, darting around the robot's shoulder, trying for a better lock on the power source. “I'm having a hard time not taking that personally.”

“It had to happen eventually,” Natasha said. 

“I don't see why,” Tony drawled. “Because I don't know what this big boy is looking for, but it is absolutely on the make.” The robot stepped sideways, picking its way around a half dozen deserted cars. “The energy usage is off the charts, and most of it's going to passive use. It's running a variety of scans. Some of which, I don't even know what it's scanning for.” He skimmed the top of a building, cutting around to get in front of the thing again. “Banner? You got anything on this mess?”

“I, uh, I'm not sure, it's like...” His voice trailed away.

“Doc?” Clint asked. “You still with us?”

“Mostly,” Bruce said. “I don't know, it's not- It's not anything I've seen before, what is it trying to find-”

The robot came a sudden, almost violent stop, its weight cracking the pavement beneath its massive feet. Its head swung from one side, and then back, servos whining as its joints flexed. Tony's eyes narrowed. “Jarvis, what's the energy spike we're getting-”

He didn't have time to finish the sentence. The robot turned, its massive frame swaying as it twisted on its axis, feet crashing down on the street with sudden, alarming force. And just like that, all semblance of slow, awkward movement was gone, and the thing was charging forward.

Tony's body snapped forward, shooting after it with a roar of his repulsors. “Still don't know what it's looking for,” he gritted out. “But I think its found it.”

“Let it go,” Coulson said, and for a half second, Tony considered following that utterly ridiculous order.

“Really? We're okay with this now?” he asked, still tailing behind the damn thing, his weapons systems locked and live. He considered taking a shot at a knee joint, or maybe a hip, but something this big, there was no way of knowing which way it would fall. And behind the windows of every building they were passing, he could see the faces, staring at him with huge eyes, clutching cell phones, clutching each other.

Looks like they needed another 'please stop filming these things and just run please,' PSA.

“It's heading North,” Coulson said. “And we've got an opening up ahead. There's street work being done to repair a water main, traffic's at a minimum, local access only, and we have minimal sidewalk traffic. It's the best place to pin this thing down and try to contain it.”

“Well, I think we're fucked, because that almost makes sense,” Tony said. 

“SHIELD strike team coming in from the East,” Clint said, his voice laconic. “Traffic's a bear, but we should be able to sweep the ground before-”

“Target identified.”

The voice was expressionless, a flat, rumbling march of computer generated syllables. A chill swept over Tony's skin, a physical sensation he tried not to notice. “That sounds bad,” he said. “I do not like the sound of-”

“Stand down.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and there was a beat of silence, a mix of wariness and shock. “Hi,” Tony said, still right behind the robot. “This is a secure channel, so if you could politely fuck off, that'd be-”

“I'm Commander Henry Gyrich, head of Project Wideawake,” the voice said, seemingly unconcerned. “And you are interfering with a government operation.”

“What government, exactly, are we talking about here?” Clint asked. “'Cause, there's a bunch that I can think of that might do this, and really, I need clarification before-”

“The United States government,” Gyrich said, and Tony had been kind of afraid of that.

“Right,” he gritted out. “So. What. You built that which man should not make, and now it's gotten away from you and you need us to destroy it before it starts damaging people and property? Great. Happy to help. You can send our medals to-”

“It's functioning just as it's supposed to, actually.” Gyrich sounded amused, and Tony decided he did not like him. For entirely rational reasons that did not involve a giant robot stomping through his city.

“Excuse me, sir,” Steve said, and that was the best Captain America voice, the deeply disapproving but still passably respectful. “You're telling me that you sent a fifteen foot tall robot into the center of the city with no warning to the citizens? To what purpose, sir?”

“Shock and awe tactics,” Tony said, before Gyrich could feed them whatever line of bullshit he had cooked up and ready to go. “You decided to announce your existence in a big way.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see the faces, pale and fearful, behind every window, each one tight with remembered trauma. Tony's jaw locked. “This is a threat.”

“Actually, its purpose is for containment and extraction,” Gyrich said. “We have clearance. Stand down, and let it do its job.”

“Coulson?” Steve said, and he didn't like it, Tony could hear the frustration in that simple word.

“Hold your positions,” Coulson said. “We're... Discussing this.”

Tony grinned. “Yeah, Fury must be discussing this with a great deal of enthusiasm,” he said, because he'd been on the other side of that discussion more than once. “Gyrich, what is it after?”

“That information has nothing to do with you, Stark. Get your digs in when you want to, but we have oversight, clearance, and control of the scene. You are the ones who have chosen to interfere with-”

The sudden shriek of an alarm echoed in the armor's helmet, drowning out whatever Gyrich was saying, and all of a sudden, Tony didn't care. Because the robot had finally slowed, one great hand coming up. “Target identified,” it rumbled. “Target identified. Surrender.”

On the street, directly in front of him, was a child.

She was a teenager, maybe thirteen, maybe fifteen. But small, and thin, her form hunched into an oversized jacket that trailed over the ends of her fingertips. She was frozen in place, her head tipped back, her face bone white, her eyes dark holes in her skull. Pale red hair swirled around her shoulders, the strands tangling in front of her face.

“Target identified.”

The 'target' was a child. And she was crying.

“No.” The word came out of him, vicious and cold and very quiet. Which didn't matter, because every other member of his team had apparently reached the same conclusion at the same moment.

Thor came barreling out of the sky, a streak of silver and red, splitting the air behind him with a crack of thunder. He shot forward, Mjolnir leading the way, straight for the back of the robot's head. The robot turned, to meet him, one hand coming up in an arc like a whip snapping through the air. It collided with Thor with a crack of metal on metal, and Thor went flying.

“Surrender. Or be destroyed,” the robot said, the monotone somehow more threatening than a more natural delivery.

“Okay, we're done,” Tony said, kicking the armor into overdrive. “Thor, draw it left, we need to-”

“Stand DOWN,” Gyrich said, and Thor had zero interest in listening to him, which was nice, because he had diplomatic immunity, and Tony hadn't managed to get that. Not yet.

“Clear the street, and get that girl out of there,” Steve snapped, and the robot swung again, fending Thor off, and it clipped the edge of a building scaffold, knocking the whole thing sideways. Tony went in shooting, trying to disintegrate the pieces before they could hit the ground, low level repulsor blasts taking out wooden platforms and chunks of metal pipe.

“Where is she?” he said, scanning the street desperately. “Jay, find her.”

“She is moving South along the edge of the street,” Jarvis said, and the spot came to life on the HUD, a tiny spark shooting through the chaos.

“Got her,” Tony said, except he didn't, there was still debris littering the streets, and the girl had ducked behind the construction barriers, using the concrete blocks to provide her with whatever cover she could manage. The robot stumbled, knocked off balance by a blow from Thor, its foot clipping an empty car and sending it crashing into the front of a nearby building. “Cap, we need-”

He saw her dart out from behind cover, stumbling over her own feet as she tried to get around the hole in the street. Thor swung, and the robot ducked under the blow, one hand out snapping out and grabbing the back end of a deserted bus.

“Surrender,” the robot said, and there was no second request, it just wrenched the bus off of the pavement, throwing it in the direction of the fleeing girl.

Tony saw the streak of movement, the flash of pale skin and dark body armor, and he honestly did not understand what it was until Clint slammed into the girl, their limbs tangling together, locking them together just as the bus went flying, end over end, to smash into the pavement right on top of them. There was a roar, or maybe a scream, a sound of denial lost to the sound of metal crashing into the pavement, into the scaffolding. 

And then, silence.

*

He didn't remember moving.

He knew he did, that he had. He felt the shift in his weight, saw the edges of his vision white out the way it did when he lost everything but his target. He remembered the brief glimpse of red hair and black fabric, the flash of sun on metal, on glass, the sound of everything breaking, metal, glass, stone, the sound like his own heart stopping. He remembered hitting his target, with all the force he could muster, body colliding with body, and the ground opening up to swallow him, falling away beneath him, and he held on, held on, held on, even as he fell.

But Clint didn't remember moving.

He remembered falling, remembered bracing himself for the impact, for what he knew was coming and then he hit, hard and fast and with enough force to drive the breath out of him. He hung there for an instant, his body a live wire of pain, and then it was over, and he was on his back, he was upside down and sideways and there was something very hard digging into his ribs.

He was, as always, pleasantly surprised to discover that he was still alive.

He sucked in a breath, and then another, and that was it, that was his entire world. The thudding of his pulse in his ears, the hollow, raw sound of his breathing. He sucked in a breath, and he could feel the grit of stone dust on his lips, on his teeth. He was blind, he was lost, and he wasn't alone. He'd gotten to her. She was here, her head tucked into the cradle of his palm, her body pressed hard against his. 

And she was breathing. He could feel it.

This was already going better than expected.

“So we're in a hole,” he said, into the horrible, still silence of his communit. “We might be in the sewers.” He managed to take a breath and then another, choking on the sediment in the air. “Smells more like the G-Line, to be honest. So. We might be in the subway line. In the dark. If someone could check on that. You know. Before a train comes. That'd be awesome.”

There was a beat of silence, so complete that he could hear the girl breathing against his chest. And then the whole team started yelling at him at once.

Clint winced. "Right," he said, reaching up to mute the unit with fingers that were surprisingly steady. "So. I'm fucked."

The girl shifted against him, her slight weight pressing down on him, and Clint winced as his shoulder pressed hard against something sharp. “Don't move,” he said. There was an impact, somewhere above them, so close that the ground vibrated against his back. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the chunks of the scaffolding to shift, for the remains of the street or the bus to come crashing down on them.

But whatever was up there, hanging in the darkness over their heads, blocking the light of the street, it didn't move. Clint decided he was going to consider that win.

“Hi,” Clint said, focusing on the girl in his arms and not the voices yelling in his ear. He had a lot of experience in ignoring that. “I'm Clint. How're you doing?”

She was shaking now, hard enough that he could feel it, her breath coming in rapid, audible pants. But her voice, when it came, was surprisingly steady. “I've been better.”

Clint grinned, then regretted that when he ended up with a mouthful of silt. “Yeah, I bet you have.” He fumbled at his belt, finding the right pouch by memory. “You okay?”

“Well, a giant robot is trying to kill me, and I'm in a HOLE,” she said, and there was an edge of hysteria to that. Not that Clint blamed her. 

“Yeah, that can happen,” he said, his fingers closing around an emergency glowstick. “Close your eyes, I want to see what we're working with here.”

“That can HAPPEN?” she said.

“Well, it did just happen, so yeah, it can happen, but probably more to me than you,” Clint said. “Close your eyes.”

“Does this... Happen to you a lot?”

He shrugged, and immediately regretted it when something dug into his spine. “Not this exact situation,” he admitted. “But close enough. Sometimes it's an alien instead of a robot. Or a boat instead of a bus. Once I fell in a cheese making vat, that was worse than this. That was like, a HUNDRED times worse than this. Close your eyes.” He waited, a breath, then two, then he cracked the glowstick, a practiced, one handed maneuver. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the sudden flare of light stung.

He blinked hard, ignoring the spike of pain that came with it. “Okay,” he said, staring up at the space above them. A lot of space. Shattered concrete and twisted metal littered the ground around them, huge chunks of stone and bits of machinery, broken loose in the collapse. “I think we're in some sort of maintenance tunnel.” Which was good, whatever had come down on top of them, or with them, the tunnel wasn't likely to give way. The impact might've opened up a hole, then buried it, or ripped the whole section apart, he didn't know. But despite the darkness, the empty silence of the space, it seemed stable.

He didn't see his bow, it was either still back on the street or buried under the debris, but his quiver was still on his hip. And judging by the way Nat was still cursing him out in Russian over the comms, she would be willing to dig him out with her bare hands just so she could have the pleasure of killing him.

It wasn't ideal, but he'd damn well take it. “Okay,” he said. “This... This isn't so bad.”

“Really. This isn't bad.”

He looked down at her. There was a scrape on her forehead, blood in her hair and on her temple, and her lip was split. Her eyes were red and wet, but steady. He gave her a grin. “Enough room to stand up and enough room to move, if stuff starts coming down. Nothing's on fire. Water's not pouring down on us. There's no...” He paused. “Ooze. Or curds. I've had worse.” He shifted. “You hurt?”

She sat up, little by little, Clint supporting her the whole way until she was upright. “No,” she said. She reached up, her fingers brushing against the tacky blood on her hairline. “Not... Not really.” She looked up. “I don't think I am.”

“Good, I can work with that,” Clint said, levering himself into a seated position, his back braced against the side of the tunnel. He wiped blood and dust off of his arm, wincing as he found a long scrape just below the armline of his vest. "Ugh, that's gonna hurt."

"Doesn't it hurt now?" she asked.

"My body and I have an agreement. It won't acknowledge pain until we're out of the situation that's causing that pain, 'cause otherwise, I'd probably have a screaming fit at least once a mission, and people hold that kinda shit against you," Clint said. He twisted around, holding the light stick up. The light slipped along the dark tunnel, casting eerie shadows on exposed wiring and pipes. Clint wondered what had come down after them, collapsing the street above them. He wasn't sure if he should get her up and walking before it could subside any more.

"That doesn't seem like a good agreement," the girl said. She sounded stern in the way that only a teenage girl could. "You need to not do that."

"Stop sabotaging me, I need the agreement in order to live," Clint said. He rolled to his feet, testing his balance and his back at the same time. Everything held, despite the ache in one leg. He sucked in a careful breath. "What's your name?” Simple questions, short. Easy to answer. Give her something to focus on.

“Callie.” Her throat worked. “Callie Betto.”

“Glad to meet you, Callie.” He leaned forward, staring into her eyes. “Really. Serious talk here. You okay?”

She nodded, a tiny dip of her chin. "Yeah," she said. She sniffed, and rubbed the back of her wrist against her nose. "Yeah. I think so." 

“Good. Can you stand up?” he asked, offering her a hand. “Because-” Above them, something hit the pavement hard, metal on stone, and his heart skipped a beat. She latched onto his hand with both of hers, and he pulled her up. “Because I think we should find somewhere more...” He struggled to find a word that wouldn't immediately induce panic. “Stable.”

She didn't move, her fingers locked on his with a surprising amount of force. “It's going to kill me, isn't it?”

“What?” Clint glanced at her. “No. No, it's not. It's not going to-” He gave her hand a little tug. “It's not going to kill you. We're not going to let that happen.”

“I don't want to die,” she said, and the words were thin and small. But her hands clung to his, her grip painful.

“Good,” he said, because what else could he say that? Steve would know. Steve always knew what to say. Clint just shook his head. “Let's focus on that. On the not dying thing. Cause I'm all for that, I'm good with being anti-death.” There was a roar, somewhere above them, an explosion of sound that shook the earth. “C'mon. You and me, we can bond over our newly found sense of self-preservation.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “I ran away from home,” she said, as Clint pulled her towards the edge of the tunnel. 

“Yeah? Me, too,” Clint said, scanning the walls, hoping for a door that might lead to an access tunnel, or at the least, a reinforced utility room. “Bad home life?”

“No. I mean. No.” She stumbled, but found her balance before he could even turn back towards her. In the pale light of the glowstick, her face was a sickly green, her eyes huge and luminous. “No, my parents, they love me, but...” Her voice trailed away.

Keeping her talking was the best way to keep her distracted. “Something else? School? Friends?” In his ear, Nat was whispering a particularly vicious Russian threat, and he heaved a slight sigh. “Friends are just...” Clint shook his head. “Never save anyone's life, they just never let you forget it.”

Callie blinked at him. “Don't you mean-”

“My life is confusing,” Clint said. “So you ran away?”

“My parents were getting... Threatening phone calls,” Callie said. She paused, picking her way around a piece of concrete. “'Cause of me.” Clint looked back at her, and she stared at him, her face helpless. “Because I'm a mutant.” 

Clint stopped, holding the glowstick up between them. “You ever hurt anyone? Deliberately?” She blinked at him, and Clint gave her hand a little shake. “You ever even try to hurt anyone?”

A tear curled down her cheek. “No.” Her jaw worked. “Kind of... Wanted to, sometimes.”

“Well, yeah, that's... That's normal, don't want to break the big bad news to you, but everyone kind of wants to, and it sounds like you've got more reason than most. But if you haven't gone around, terrorizing the neighborhood with your-” He waved a hand at her. “Your ninety-two pounds of brute force, or whatever it is that you can do, then it's not because of you. It's because they're bigots. They're asshole bigots,” Clint said. “That's why your parents are getting threatening phone calls, not because their daughter's a mutant, because their neighbors are asshole bigots.” Her mouth was gaping open, and Clint leaned in. “Right?”

“I-” Her lips worked, and Clint shook his head.

“Nope. Wrong answer. Say, 'yes, Hawkeye, as it turns out, my neighbors are asshole bigots and it sucks that I have to deal with that, but they're the problem, not me,” he said. He tried to smile. “Right?”

She blinked. “Right.” She didn't sound certain, but she said it, and then, again, “Right.”

Clint nodded. “Look, I'm not in a place to tell anyone else how to live their lives, I'm a grown ass man and if my cell plan wasn't on auto pay, I'd be missing that sucker every month, but still.” He looked up, squinting towards the roof of the tunnel. “Bet your parents are worried about you.”

“Hey, Clint?” She switched hands, still holding onto his like a lifeline. “If something goes wrong, will you-” 

“Everything's going to be fine!” he said, and he considered getting Phil on the comm, because it sounded so much more comforting when Phil said it. It actually sounded believable when Phil said it. “Callie. Everything is going to be-”

“Hawkeye?”

Clint reached up, triggering his communit. “Oh, are you done yelling at me?”

“I don't yell, Hawkeye,” Phil said, and that was his 'we'll discuss this later' voice. Clint hated that voice. “You ready to get out of there?” 

“Depends,” he said, even as he steered Callie towards the nearest wall, where he could give them both a measure of protection. “How much trouble am I in?”

Phil sighed. “You threw yourself in front of a bus, Hawkeye.”

“Yeah, I do that pretty often, sir, I mean-”

“Yes, but this time, you did it in front of everyone.” He did not sound amused. Clint winced. “A giant robot threw a bus, and for once, that giant robot wasn't aiming at you, and you chose to run directly into the path of that bus. In front of everyone.”

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds kinda dumb,” Clint said. 

“Yes, well, there's a reason for that,” Phil told him. “Because it was.”

“It wasn't paying attention to me, I figured I could sneak up on it, and then when I did, I wasn't really sure what to do about it, so... Look, I'm alive, don't I get credit for being alive?”

“You do realize this is an open commline, don't you?” Tony said, and Clint decided that maybe living in the hole for the rest of his life was a pretty good idea.

“Yeah, totally,” he said, because fuck it. Fuck it all. “Have you guys finished killing the damn deathbot yet, or what? I mean-”

Above him, there was the shriek of stone on metal, and Callie screamed, the sound muffled against Clint's chest. Clint jerked backwards, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. “I hope that's you,” he said, even as he twisted them around, tucking her into the questionable shelter of the wall.

“Not quite,” Tony said, just before the ceiling above them opened up. “Watch your head, we've got to clear this mess.”

“Can you not?” Clint said, but the sentence was lost beneath the roar of the repulsors. And whatever was above them was vaporized, releasing a rain of stone fragments and grit. Pebble sized chunks of concrete clattered across the floor, dust swirling in the sunlight that came flooding in.

Clint resisted the urge to swear. “Can you NOT?” he yelled instead.

“Stop falling in holes,” Tony said, and Clint was going to stab him in the ass as soon as they got off this street.

Above them, a familiar form appeared in the swirling dust. Logan leaned over, one arm braced on his up-thrust knee, his claws glinting against the black leather. “Hey, Carnie. You got somethin' for us?” Behind him, Hulk loomed, his massive bulk casting a shadow over the opening. Logan didn't seem concerned.

Clint glared up at him. “Oh, you guys decided to show up?” he asked. “Finally?”

One of Logan's shoulders rose in a half shrug. “Next time, don't start the party without us.” He leaned forward. “She okay?”

“C'mon, man, wanna put the hardware away?” Clint asked, as Callie shifted against his side. “She's had a day. Maybe don't add to that?”

Logan glanced down. “Ah. Right.” He flexed his fingers, and the claws retracted. “Sorry 'bout that.” 

Callie peered around Clint, her fingers still locked on his vest. “Is it... Still there?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Logan smiled. “Nah. We got it.” His head tipped back. “Right?”

Hulk silently held up a piece of what had once been a very large, very pink head. “Smash,” he growled, and he sounded so pleased with himself that Clint couldn't help but grin.

“Tell me you got it,” he said, stepping back. “Tell me that we don't have to hear this frigid puck-sucker brag about how he had to clean up after us for the next six months.”

Logan let out a snort. “Six months? You're not getting' off that light. You'll be hearing about this for the next six years.” He held out a hand. “Name's Logan, kid.”

Callie shrunk back behind Clint, her shaking fingers scrambling against his vest, trying to get a grip. Clint patted her hand, letting her hold on. “Don't worry. He's a grump, but he's a good guy,” he said. “Just don't lend him money.”

“You really gonna bring this up again? Really?” Logan asked, leveling a look in Clint's direction.

There was a sudden, soft swirl of wind, and a pale red glow washed over the interior of the tunnel. Clint tipped his head up just in time to see Jean float into view. “I think you're scaring her, boys,” she said, even as one foot ghosted over the uneven floor. She settled, one foot and then the other, her hands sweeping down to her sides before her hair swirled down around her shoulders, settling there in soft, gleaming waves.

She smiled at Callie. “Hello, Callie,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “We've been looking for you.”

*

“Where's the girl?”

Tony looked up as an unfamiliar man came cutting through the crowd. His suit was well-tailored, his sunglasses polished to a mirror shine, his red hair cut in a crisp, unattractive crew cut. Tony eyed him for a moment, then pointedly turned back to the schematics scrolling on the monitor in front of him. “Sorry, I'm in a committed relationship at the moment, if you're looking for a wingman, you'll need to-”

“Have you misplaced someone?” Steve asked, leaning against the SHIELD transport right next to Tony, his arms crossed over his chest. Tony stifled a smile, bending his head over his work to hide it. He loved it when Steve put on the 'gosh golly gee whiz Captain America' voice. It was always a delight.

Coulson was a step behind the newcomer, his face an expressionless mask. “This is Commander Gyrich,” he said, stating the obvious so that Tony couldn't later claim that he didn't know. 

“Where is the girl?” Gyrich repeated, his voice hard. 

“We don't know,” Coulson said. “SHIELD doesn't take minors into custody, we were securing the scene. By the time we had everything under control, she was gone.”

“And you didn't see how or where, did you, Agent Coulson?” Gyrich asked.

Coulson gave him a polite smile. “I wasn't briefed on her before the incident,” he said, one hundred percent bureaucrat and proud of it. “If I had been, I could've-

Gyrich turned his back to Coulson, staring at the rest of the team. “Where's the girl?” he asked them.

“Dunno,” Clint said. He was doing his best to fend off a SHIELD medic. Natasha was sitting on his other side, cleaning a gun and keeping Clint from fleeing entirely. Tony wasn't sure if the gun was a threat or just a coincidence. Clint gave Gyrich a shit-eating grin. “Things got pretty chaotic there at the end. What with a giant robot getting blown up.”

Gyrich's head swung in his direction, his eyes hidden behind the lenses of his glasses. “Agent Barton, you are in a difficult position here.”

“Usually am, honestly,” Clint said, wincing as the medic started cleaning the wound on his shoulder. “It's fine, leave it-”

“Let him work,” Natasha said, her eyes never leaving the gun in front of her. Clint subsided. “Thank you.”

“You interfered with a government operation,” Gyrich said. His head swung around, pinning each of them in place in turn. “You all did.” He turned back to Coulson. “Where's the Asgardian?”

“Thor and Hulk are assisting with the clean-up,” Coulson said, his voice expressionless. “If you'd like to help, we can-”

“There wouldn't need to be a cleanup if your people hadn't gotten involved,” Gyrich said. “You destroyed government property, and interfered with a sanctioned operation.”

“Shit happens,” Tony said, squinting down at the laptop. “Do we have a better scan of this?” he asked Coulson. “Because this is, this is useless, SHIELD is useless, and I was doing other things, important things, things involving missles, so-”

“Banner had that data,” Coulson said. “When he's back-”

“Where is the girl?” Gyrich said.

“Do you have the girl?” Tony asked Clint. “Cause I thought you had-”

“I mean, I did, but then I got out of the hole and someone thought I should get medical treatment,” Clint said, staring at Natasha with narrowed eyes. She smirked down at her pistol. “Didn't you-”

“Why, exactly, were you after her?” Steve asked, before either of them could get themselves into more trouble. “What's your interest in-”

“She's a runaway. Her parents are the ones who involved us,” Gyrich said. He gave Steve a pleasant smile. “They called and reported her missing, and the local authorities referred the case to us. We assured them that we had the tools and the resources to find her, and they agreed.”

“Pretty sure that you didn't tell 'em that your 'resource' might throw a bus at their teenage daughter,” Clint said. “I mean, most parents would object to that. In general.” 

“And if you had not presented a clear threat to it, it would never have done so,” he said. “It responds to threats, Agent. You presented a threat. It responded.”

“And just how sensitive is that threat sensor?” Tony asked. He pulled up a grainy cell phone video of the robot's arrival, coming in low over the harbor, repulsors pushing it along low over the surface of the water. “What, exactly, would set it off?”

“I'd say that's propitiatory information, wouldn't you?” Gyrich said. 

“I'm just curious if this is an 'armed response' threat sensor?” Tony mused. “Or is it more of a 'oh no, the 90 pound child has a rock' threat sensor?”

“Gotta be careful about those rocks,” Clint agreed. 

“It's a proportional response,” Gyrich said. “Something that I specialize in. Which is why I'm not having you all detained for damage to government property.”

“That's very measured of you,” Steve agreed. “Considering that your 'resource' took definite aim against a non-combatant that was doing her best to flee, not attack.” He stared Gyrich down, his face set in stone. “And I'm certain that the bad PR from having us arrested in the wake of this debacle isn't something that is part of your consideration.”

Gyrich nodded, the movement of his head very slow. “Actually, it does,” he said, his voice pleasant. “But let's be clear, Captain. I don't answer to you. I don't answer to the press, public opinion, or the American people. I am here, Project Wideawake is here, as a security measure to protect the people who will likely not appreciate what we are doing for them. To keep them safe. To make sure that everyone is treated equally under the law, no matter how much of a threat that they present.”

Tony stared at him. “Wow. You've found a really clever way to cover 'we've built a giant robot and we plan on using it to hunt down mutants.'” He nodded. “That's... That's some excellent PR babble. Makes you sound almost noble.”

“I'm not sure you understand nobility, Mr. Stark, but some of us are perfectly comfortable doing the right thing for everyone, and claim no credit for it.” He looked back at Clint. “Or showboat to gain public approval.” Clint met his eyes without flinching. Gyrich smiled, cold and sharp. “You're very lucky you're not in jail right now, Agent.”

“In general, or because of this specific mess?” Clint asked. He raised his arm so the medic could finish patching him up. “Because I've always known that I'm going to end up in jail eventually, Commander. So really, the fact that I'd be facing a federal judge telling 'em that the reason that I was there was because I kept a government asset from killing a teenager?” 

He grinned. “Put that on my fucking tombstone. It's about the best I can hope for.”

“Maybe don't go to jail?” Natasha suggested. Her hands were still on her weapon, her fingers just ghosting over the gleaming surface of the metal. She looked up, and her eyes were locked on Gyrich, not Clint. “Have you considered maybe not going to jail?”

Clint let out a snort. “Oh, I'm going to end up in jail, Nat. It's cute that you think I won't.”

“I'm very optimistic,” she said, and it was the most Russian she'd ever sounded, the words flat and utterly without intonation.

“I've heard that about you,” Clint said. The medic backed off, and he lowered his arm back with a wince, and a mumble of thanks. “I can't help but think that your proportional response was a long time in coming.” His head rocked to the side, eyes sharp. “And so was your contact with SHIELD. Almost like you were waiting for something. Or someone.” He smiled. “But not us.”

Gyrich studied him, a faint smile on his face. “And who might that be?”

Clint shrugged, and immediately winced. “Dunno. But sorry they took off before you got here.” He slid off the stretcher, his booted feet hitting the ground with a solid thump. “Would've liked to see how that would've worked out for you.”

“Agent, I'd watch your-”

There was a slight shudder to the ground, the sound of a heavy tread on cracked concrete, and then Hulk loomed over the top of the SHIELD transport, his broad, grim face peering down at them. “Hey, buddy,” Clint said, even as Gyrich took a single, involuntary step back, his shoulders hitting Coulson's chest. Clint waved his good hand in the air. “You throw everything into the harbor?”

Hulk shrugged. “Truck,” he grumbled, sounding displeased with it. Tony grinned up at him, wondering if Thor had talked him into it, or just handled it all himself.

Gyrich squared his shoulders, reaching up to straighten his tie. To his credit, his hands were steady, despite the way that the Hulk was staring at him, his face set in a scowl. “I'll talk to you, too, Banner. Soon enough.”

Hulk let out a snort that ruffled Gyrich's short hair. “No Banner,” he rumbled. “Only Hulk.” He leaned in, his jaw set at an obstinate angle. “You. Go.”

“Call him off,” Gyrich said, and Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his smile.

“He knows what he's about,” he said. “And unless we're in the middle of the fight, he doesn't have to listen to me.”

Gyrich's head turned in his direction, a smile creasing his face. “What makes you think you're not in the middle of a fight right now, Captain?”

In the silence that followed, he tucked his hands in his pockets and wandered off towards the street. “You'll be hearing from me.” He glanced back over his shoulder at them. “Soon.”

“Hey, Gyrich?” Tony tapped at the screen with a fingertip, freezing the video in place. He stared down at the image of the robot coming in for its initial landing. “If I find a single piece of my tech in this thing?” He looked up, smiling his most bone chilling smile. “I'm going to sue you back to the stone age.”

Gyrich paused, one hand swinging down at his side. “I'll send you a full schematic.” And then he was gone, wandering off into the mass of human and vehicle traffic.

Tony stared after him, a faint sense of unease settling low in the pit of his stomach. He stabbed a finger against the screen, closing the video. Next to him, Steve shifted his weight, drawing Tony's attention. “What was that all about?” he asked, his voice low.

“I don't know,” Tony admitted, and God, but he hated to admit that. He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustration rolling over him. “And I'm not really looking forward to finding out.”

Clint shifted, drawing his attention. “Hulk?”

Tony turned, following Clint's gaze. Hulk was peering after Gyrich, his eyes narrowed into slits. “We okay, big guy?” Tony asked him, and the sentence was barely out of his mouth when Hulk crouched down and simply leapt away. Tony stared after him. “What the hell? Where is he going?”

“Tell me he's not going after him,” Coulson said, and he sounded exhausted. He rubbed his forehead. “Please. Someone tell me that.”

Clint shrugged, and winced. “If he was gonna squish him, he would've done it already,” he said, rubbing his side. 

Natasha grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “How bad is this going to be, Coulson?”

“It depends if Hulk is about to kill a Government spook,” Coulson said. 

Steve stared at the skyline. “He's not. He's going home.”

Tony grabbed his helmet. “What? Why?” 

Steve locked eyes with him. “He just watched something very big and very violent try to attack a child.”

Understanding hit like a brick upside the head. "He's checking on our kid.”

“He's checking on his kid,” Steve corrected. He held out a hand. “Let's go.”

Tony wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, waiting just long enough for Steve to throw an arm around his shoulders. “Coulson?”

“I'll let you know if anything changes,” Coulson said, grabbing Clint by the back of his vest. “You. Sit back down.”

“I gotta-” Clint waved a hand in their direction. “Go.”

“No, you don't,” Natasha said, her voice bored. She gave Tony a look. “Go.”

“Going,” Tony said, and took off, Steve held securely in one arm. “Hold on, we're going to have to do some catching up.”

“Punch it,” Steve said, and Tony could hear the slight smile in his voice even over the comm. “I'll let you know if I'm losing my grip.”

“We talking physically or mentally?”

“I'll keep you appraised on both.”

“Communication. That's why this relationship works,” Tony said, banking hard around the corner of a building. Hulk was still ahead of them, taking the city in great leaps. Tony couldn't go as fast as he wanted, not with Steve clinging to his side, but Hulk was clearly not making any effort to shake them. "Jay? Can you warn the bratbot that he's going to get a guest real soon?"

"He is on his way to the roof now," Jarvis said.

"He okay with this?" Steve asked.

"He is mostly concerned that something is wrong," Jarvis said, as Avengers Tower came into sight. "Despite my efforts to reassure him."

“Has he been on the internet?” Tony asked, and he knew the answer before he even asked the question.

“He is exceptionally clever at bypassing your child safety measures,” Jarvis said. 

“Which is, you know, you,” Tony said. His arm tightened on Steve's waist. “Is he-”

“He is fine. But it is unusual for Hulk to come check on him after an event of this nature,” Jarvis said. “He's well aware that something may have prompted this change in behavior.”

“Yeah, well, something has. Don't tell him what, exactly, I'd like a chance for Steve to discuss it with him in person,” Tony said.

“For Steve to discuss it with him?” Steve repeated. But he was smiling, just a little. Enough. It was enough of a smile.

“Was hoping you wouldn't catch that,” Tony said.

“I did.” Steve exhaled as they cut hard around a skyscraper, heading straight for the Tower. “He's okay, Tony. They're not coming for him.”

“Only because they don't know about him.” The words hung between them, and Tony shook his head. “Can we discuss this later? When we're not about to put on a good face in front of him?”

“Probably for the best,” Steve agreed as the landing pad came into view. He raised his free hand to wave at DJ just as Hulk came bounding up the side of the building. 

DJ was perched on the edge of the landing pad, his knees drawn up against his chest, his bare feet braced on the gleaming marble. As Hulk peeked up over the ledge, he straightened up, his hands coming down to his sides. "Okay?" he asked, and there was strain in his voice. Behind him, Tony came in for an easy landing, trying not to startle either of them. He set Steve down next to him, but didn't let him go. 

Hulk tossed himself up and onto the landing pad, his feet hitting with enough force to make it shake. Neither he nor DJ seemed to notice. He padded over, his face set in stern lines. DJ met him halfway, stopping right in front of the Hulk. "Okay?" he repeated. He blinked hard, his face worried. What few words he could manage seemed to stumble out of him with a great deal of effort. "Hurt?"

Hulk huffed out a breath, and settled down on the floor in front of DJ. "No." The word rumbled through him, quick and impatient. He reached out, his big hand hovering over DJ's head. "Okay?"

DJ reached up with both hands, leaning them into Hulk's palm. "Okay!" he said, and this time he managed a smile. He glanced over at Steve and Tony, and Tony could see the strain in his face, in the way his words came with such effort. "Was worried."

"Sorry, bratbot," Tony said. He pulled off his helmet and braced it against his hip. "Everyone's fine. Clint tripped and fell in a hole, and got like, a scraped elbow, but that's the worst of it."

DJ's eyes flicked towards Steve, and Tony decided not to take that personally. "It was a little more than a trip," Steve said, with an easy smile. "So he gets to choose what kind of pizza we have tonight-"

"Why are we rewarding this?" Tony asked him. "Why are we encouraging him to continue-"

"Because he's going to do it anyway and it gives you something to complain about," Steve said. 

"I cannot believe that you-"

DJ looked at Steve. "Pizza?" he asked, proving that he had the Stark family ability to ignore anything that he wasn't interested in. 

"Pizza," Steve agreed.

DJ looked at Hulk. "Pizza," he said, and Hulk nodded. DJ grinned at him. "Want to swim?"

Hulk paused, his eyes narrowing. Then, he gave a very serious nod, and scrambled to his feet. "Swim," he rumbled.

DJ nodded. “Dad?” He gave Tony a hopeful look. “Swim?”

“No,” Tony said, trying to sound stern. “The armor will rust.”

DJ gave him a look. “Take off.” He stopped, and leaned into Hulk's hand. “Take it off.” Hulk nodded, glaring at Tony.

“Off,” he rumbled.

Tony looked at Steve, who arched an eyebrow at him. “You know my opinion about that,” Steve said, with a ghost of a smile.

“Yeah, but it's nice to hear it, you know.”

Steve patted him lightly on the ass. “Strip down, Stark, and meet us at the pool.” He headed for the elevator. “C'mon, guys, we'll go inflate some pool floats.”

“Donut float is mine,” DJ told Hulk, who nodded. 

Smiling, Tony fell into step behind them. “Jay? Let Pepper know that we may have a problem.”

“I suspect, sir, that she's already aware.”

“Yeah, well, let's make it clear.”


	3. Chapter 3

"We can't touch them."

"Pepper-"

She was already shaking her head. "Tony. We can't. We-"

"I have to, I have to-" Tony braced his hands on the edge of his workbench, rocking his weight against his palms. "You've seen the specs, my tech is embedded in those designs, and I can't have that. I will not have that. I need to go over there, and rip every single one of my components out of those damn things.” DJ set a cup of coffee down next to him, and Tony glared down at it. “Is this what we're doing here? Really?”

“What?” Steve asked, handing a cup to Rhodey, who took it with a slight smile and a nod. Steve gave Tony an innocent look. “You don't want coffee?”

DJ peeked over the rim of the cup. “I want coffee.”

“Yes, that's not happening,” Steve said, ruffling his hair. “But maybe Rhodey'll give you a donut.”

Rhodey pushed the box across the workbench. “I brought you a coconut one.”

DJ grinned at him. “Thank,” he said, picking it up.

Tony pointed at Rhodey. “Don't think I don't know why you're here,” he said. “I absolutely know why you're here.”

Rhodey shrugged, his mouth curled up in a faint smile. “What? I'm just here to bribe the kid with donuts.” He folded his arms on the edge of the workbench, leaning into them. “Pepper offered me a ride.”

“You think you're cute, but you're not,” Tony told him.

“I did think I was cute,” Rhodey said. He looked at DJ. “I'm not cute?”

DJ considered him, caught mid-bite. He nodded, the donut still clamped between his teeth. “See,” Rhodey said with a grin. “At least one Stark has taste.”

“You.” Tony pointed at DJ. “Aren't you supposed to be fixing something?”

DJ considered him. “You're supposed to be fixing,” he said.

“Yeah, but you like fixing things, and I find it tedious and boring,” Tony told him. He pointed at the War Machine armor. “Show me up.”

DJ looked longingly at the armor. “Want two donuts,” he said.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Tony said. “Take the box. Leave me a cruller.” Pleased with his deal, DJ snagged the box and bounced off towards the diagnostic station where Rhodey had left his armor. Tony watched him go, and when he was out of earshot, gave Steve a look. “You brought him down here to keep me from exploding.”

Steve raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “It worked,” he said, filling a cup of coffee for Pepper.

Tony pointed at Rhodey. “And you're here to keep me from lighting a government facility on fire,” Tony said, refusing to be distracted. “It's not going to work.” He leaned his palms on his edge of the bench. “I'm going to find these things. And I'm going to rip my componants out of them. With my bare hands. Or maybe a crowbar. I haven't taken a crowbar to any trash tech in a decade, I'm out of practice, but I'm more than willing to do this.”

Pepper exhaled, and it was a sigh, he knew it was a sigh, but she was doing her best to cover it. Tony appreciated that. "Tony. I can't stop you." She spread her hands. "We both know I can't stop you-"

"Thanks for acknowledging that," Tony said. “I appreciate it. Because I am going to.”

"She might not be able to, but I can, so..." Steve gave Tony a look.

Rhodey raised a hand. "I could, too. And I'm more likely to do so." He gave Tony a smile that was almost sympathetic, but there was steel under it. "Let's not."

"I mean, the two of you together, you might have a chance,” Tony said. He gave them both a sharp, cold smile. “Might.”

"I'd really prefer we not get that far," Steve said. "Tony, we-"

"I can't do this, I can't-" He shoved himself away the workbench, his whole body a live wire of frustration. He wanted to blow something up, he wanted to punch something, he wanted to get out. Instead, he picked up a wrench, bouncing it back and forth between his palms. "Pepper. You've seen what they're doing with my tech, I can't, I just-" He huffed out a breath, his shoulders flexing with the force of it. "I can't."

She met his eyes without flinching. "It's legal." Tony stared at her, his hands spread wide, and she set her tablet down in front of him, the gesture somehow gentle. She took a deep breath. "Tony. I'm sorry. But we can't touch them."

His hand seemed to move against his will, his fingers closing on the edge of the tablet. Behind him, Steve shifted. "Pepper?" he asked, and Pepper's eyes darted in his direction. But she didn't say a word.

Tony stared down at the file. "Fuck," he said, but it lacked all heat. "Stane."

Pepper's chin dropped in something like a nod. "Stane," she agreed. She shifted her weight, her arms crossed over her chest. "It's all legal, Tony. Everything they've got, they officially licensed."

Tony stabbed at the screen, frustration sizzling through him. Every file. The same signatures. "Fuck," he repeated. And then again, soft, resigned. “Fuck.”

Pepper never looked away. “He had the right to do it,” she said, her voice quiet. “Even if you hadn't been missing, he would've had the right. He did all the negotiations. And when you were missing-” Her mouth worked for a moment. “The company was in chaos, Tony. It was... It wasn't a good time. And a large government contract was the best thing he could've announced. It wasn't a weapons contract, it was for things that were already highly monetized, but no one on the board, none of the analysts were doing anything but cartwheels with joy. It stabilized the company at a time when we desperately needed it. When no one was sure what our future was going to be.”

Tony nodded. “Right.” The tablet clattered to the workbench, and he rubbed both hands over his face. “Right.”

Next to him, Steve shifted. “Stane. He was the one...”

Tony dropped his hands, looking over to meet Steve's eyes. His face was pinched, his mouth a set, hard line. Tony managed a slight smile. “Asshole who tried to have me killed, then tried to kill me?” he asked, his voice wry. “Yeah.”

Steve nodded, but there was a muscle jumping in his jaw now. “And he signed the rights to these things away?”

“No. Just licensed certain components,” Pepper said. She chewed on her lower lip. “A lot of what Tony used for the original waves of Iron Man suits, they were things we already held patents on, things that could be used as a basis for the design.”

“Things I already knew how to do when I went in, and when I came out,” Tony said. He picked up a wrench from the workbench, just to keep himself from punching something. “And as I improved the armor, it's likely someone realized they already had a lot of the building blocks. Not the arc reactor. Not the power source. But a lot of what makes the armor functional?” His head bobbed in a slight nod. “They already had it. And there was nothing stopping them from using it.”

Rhodey stared at the holographic schematic. “They've got someone smart,” he said, his voice quiet. “I mean. Amoral. But smart.”

“Smart enough to use everything they got from me, yes.” Tony bounced the wrench against his thigh. “Fuck. Pep, I need you to pull all the contracts, everything, we paid so much attention to the weaponry, we covered our asses so well with the weaponry, but there's so much that could come back to bite us.”

He stared at the schematic, rage sweeping over him like a wave, gone almost as soon as it hit. And leaving him exhausted and swaying on his feet. “Fuck you, Obie. Fuck you.”

Pepper picked up her coffee cup. “We can't be held accountable for what they do with it,” she said, her voice quiet.

“But we can't fight it, either,” Tony said. “He was legally in charge at the time. And unless we want to undo SHIELD's hard work and admit just what happened to him, we've got no leg to stand on.” His eyes slid in her direction. “Check with legal. Just in case.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I would've come down here and said we couldn't do anything unless I'd already confirmed that with legal?” she asked, her voice tart, and Tony caught himself smiling.

“I could hope you'd suddenly gotten lazy,” he admitted.

That won him a smile. “I'll keep looking,” she said. “But I think this is the worst of it. Almost everything was already in circulation.”

“Thank god for small favors, I guess,” Tony said. He considered his coffee cup, but his stomach was churning. Instead, he shifted sideways, leaning into Steve's personal space. Steve wrapped an arm around his waist, his grip firm and strong.

"I'm actually surprised he didn't get more," Rhodey said. He shifted his coffee cup from one hand, and back to the other, his fingers rattling against the porcelain. "You were gone, Pepper didn't have executive status, I didn't have access, and the board would've done whatever he asked, without question."

“I kept most of my prototypes at home,” Tony pointed out. “The weapons, sure, that was all in the SI databanks, but not the new stuff.”

"We're lucky he didn't strip everything out of the workshop, along with the corporate assets," Pepper said. She shook her head. “That would've been a nightmare.” 

"He tried."

Tony's head came up. "Jay?"

There was a beat of silence. "He attempted to access the workshop,” Jarvis said. “Not long after you disappeared. In retrospect, I would surmise that he was after technology and information that you had chosen to keep private."

Tony glanced at Pepper, who shook her head, her face puzzled. "What do you mean, attempted? He had the codes, he had-"

"I did not allow the door to open," Jarvis said.

Tony leaned back into the shelter of Steve's chest, a hand braced on the edge of the workbench. "He had a code, but you didn't let him in?"

"Yes."

"Okay, right, now we know that was a good idea, brilliant, really, but, wanna tell me why?" Tony could feel the rhythm of Steve's breathing, his chest flexing against Tony's back. It was comforting in a way he didn't really want to examine. “You've never refused to honor an active code before, it's rather counter to your programming, so why-”

"Dummy convinced me that I should not."

Everyone went silent. As one, every adult in the room turned to look at DJ, who was sitting quietly at the diagnostic station, a screwdriver in his teeth and a drill resting on one upraised knee. He made a minute adjustment to the shoulderplate he was working on, his eyes narrowed and his fingers steady.

Tony took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Dummy convinced you not to,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Jarvis said.

“Why?” Tony asked.

DJ took the screwdriver out of his mouth. “Didn't trust him,” he said, tapping the tip of the screwdriver against the metal plate. His head tipped to the side, his eyes falling closed as he repeated the gesture, flicking the screwdriver against the plating, and Tony wondered what he was listening for. “He was...” His eyes opened, and he blinked at Tony. “Made you sad.”

Tony realized his arms were crossed over his chest, and he forced them back to his sides. “He didn't,” he said, but the words sounded hollow. DJ frowned at him, then turned his attention back to his work. “I mean, right, he did, he was a manipulative asshole, looking back, easy to see that now, but you-” He stopped, not sure how to verbalize the churning nausea that had settled low in his stomach. He scraped a hand over his face. “You stopped Jarvis from letting him into the workshop.”

That won him a slight shrug, but DJ didn't look up again. He just shifted his weight on his stool, tucking his upraised leg closer to his chest. 

“How?” Tony asked.

Another shrug. “Asked him not to.” DJ's mouth twisted in a fierce frown. “Shouldn't be in the workshop. Not without you.” He paused, his frown deepening, his jaw tight. “Shouldn't be in the workshop at all.”

Steve's arm tightened on Tony's waist. “You protected the workshop.”

DJ shrugged again. “Jarvis.”

“I refused him entry because you asked it of me, and I was also wary of his intentions,” Jarvis said. “But I would not have had the capability to do so, had you not asked it of me.”

DJ looked up. “Didn't want him in the workshop.” His nose scrunched up. “Didn't like him.”

“Yeah, again, good instinct there, but-”

"Disabled my spacial reasoning parameters," DJ said. He blinked, slow and careful. "So I could ram him. In the leg." Tony stared at him, not sure how to process that information. DJ blinked again. "Tried to break his leg." He frowned, and bent back over his work. "Not enough force, didn't break. But I hurt him." He gave a single, firm nod, a satisfied smile curling his lips. "It was worth it. Hurt him. It was worth it."

In the silence that followed, Steve set his coffee cup down, and Tony stepped away from him, just a step away. "Why?" he asked. DJ looked up, and Steve smiled at him. "You aren't violent. You've never-"

The words finally sank in. "You? YOU disabled your-" Tony pointed a finger in DJ's direction. "Have I been fighting your spacial programming for, for-" He rocked back on his heels, caught between wanting to strangle his child and wanting to laugh until he cried. "For YEARS, for YEARS I've been fighting with that code, and you're telling me that the reason you run face first into everything is because you deliberately sabotaged your own code?"

DJ thought about that. Then he gave Tony a thumbs up. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "You got stuck in a corner for three days once, Deej."

"Worth it," DJ said, with all due gravity.

"Grounded," Tony told him. "You. Grounded forever."

DJ nodded. "Still worth it.”

"Wait, if you disabled the code, or messed with it somehow, and good job, good job there, Tone, letting that happen-" Rhodey started, and Tony flipped him off. It was half-hearted at best and just won him a grin. "Why didn't you just-" Rhodey spread his hands. "Fix it? So you didn't get stuck in corners?"

DJ considered him. "Because if I fixed it,” he said, slowly, “then he would know I could.” His eyes flicked in Tony's direction. “You would know.”

“That you could alter your code,” Tony said, and DJ nodded. Tony cupped a hand over his mouth. “Grounded.”

“Okay,” DJ said.

“Forever,” Tony said.

“How many times has he grounded you forever?” Rhodey asked DJ, who paused, his face scrunching up as he considered that question. Rhodey grinned into his coffee cup, and Tony considered throwing something at him. “Calculating. Calculating.”

“The numbers are definitely against him on this one,” Steve said. He crossed the workshop, pausing next to DJ to bump his knuckles lightly against DJ's head. DJ grinned up at him. Steve smiled back, all warmth and affection. “It's just about time for our meeting. We'll be back in two hours. We'll let you know if something changes. Okay?” 

DJ nodded, but his fingers flexed on the screwdriver. “Okay?”

“Want Jarvis to give you a clock, botbrain?” Tony asked, pushing himself to his feet.

“Yes.” The word was immediate, certain. Relieved.

“Want Rhodey to stay with you?” Tony asked. “You can teach him to fix the armor so he can do it himself instead of depending on child labor to handle it.”

DJ frowned at him. “I like fixing it.”

“Which is good, because I need to go keep an eye on your loser of a father,” Rhodey said, reaching for his uniform jacket. “But I can come back afterwards and you can show me how you unjammed that defective and poorly designed elbow joint that he foisted on me.”

“Yes,” DJ said, with a firm nod.

“Know what, Rhodes? Don't want to take my reject designs? Make your own,” Tony said, reaching for his coffee cup. He drained the last dregs. “Deej?” DJ looked up at him, and Tony reached out, smoothing his hair away from his face. “I need you to stay off the internet while we're gone.”

DJ stared at him, his face blank. “I already saw.”

Tony cupped both hands around DJ's head. “I know.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to DJ's forehead. “I know you have, and I hate that, so-” He straightened up. “You're going to humor me and go read a book or work on something while we're gone, right?”

“Going to waste my life playing video games,” DJ said.

“That's good, too.” Tony glanced back at the workbench. The schematic hung there, a menacing presence even in its wireframe model form, and he'd never hated anything as much as he hated that empty shell in that moment.

DJ followed his gaze. “It's good,” he said. He looked at Tony, his gaze steady. “Good that it's ours.”

Tony blinked at him. “Wanna explain that one to me?” he asked, trying to smile. “Doesn't feel good at all. Not to me.”

DJ's head tipped to the side. “If it's ours,” he said, the words slow, “then we know how to break it.” His smile was just as slow, just as certain. “If it's ours, we can break it.”

Tony stared at him. “Well, fuck,” he said, the word barely audible.

DJ raised a hand, slashing it through the air, and the schematic shattered. “This. We can break.”

Tony grabbed DJ's head between his palms and leaned forward, pressing a loud kiss to the top of DJ's head. “You,” he said, “are ungrounded.”

DJ nodded. “Okay.”

*

“Help me out here, Nicodemus,” Tony said, striding into the SHEILD boardroom. “You cannot tell me you didn't know that the US Government was taking some serious style tips from Doctor Doom. You can't tell me this. I won't believe it.” He threw himself into a seat, his legs bouncing out in front of him. “So. What the fuck.”

Fury didn't even look up from the tablet in his hand. “Huh” he said, tapping a finger against his lips. “This is almost word for word a conversation that I had with the US Government about you.”

“Excuse me,” Tony said, as the rest of the team filed into the room. “Doom takes style tips from ME.”

Steve gave him a look, but it was hard to keep a straight face. “I think what he's trying to ask, Director, is why we didn't know about this until we ran face first into it in the streets of New York.”

“No, I mean, what the fuck,” Tony said.

“Quit while you're ahead, Mr. Stark,” Fury said, setting his tablet down and folding his hands in front of him. “I see you've brought guests.” He nodded at Rhodey. “Colonel.”

“Director.” Rhodey sank into the seat on the other side of Tony. “I'm not here as a representative of-”

Fury waved him off. “I know. Trying to keep your friend from ending up in jail or deported. Commendable.” His eyebrow arched. “Stupid. But commendable.”

“That's pretty much what they put in the yearbook about us, yes,” Rhodey agreed with a ghost of a smile.

“And who's our other friend?” Fury asked. “A new recruit?”

Logan sank down into a seat between Clint and Thor. “Foreign exchange student,” he drawled. "Bonjour."

“We've offered him a place on the reserve roster,” Steve said. 

“He was the one we could get through the front door without setting off every alarm bell you've got,” Tony said. “And it's clear that Xavier's crew is going to be involved in this.” He spread his hands wide. "It's corporate synergy."

Fury glanced at Logan. “Everything okay at your place?”

Logan shrugged. “We've been better,” he said. “Lotta scared kids. And a even more scared parents, trying to determine if the best thing to do is send their kids here, or take them out.” He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “And when I say 'take 'em out,' I don't mean out of the school. I mean, out of the country.”

Fury nodded. “Can't say I blame them,” he said. He braced his jaw on one hand. “And to answer your question, Stark, we were aware of the project. We did not think that it was going to be unveiled in quite this manner.” His mouth went tight. “Or quite this quickly.”

Steve leaned forward in his seat. “So they did it to catch us offguard.”

“They did it to see how we'd react,” Fury said, his dark eye flicking in Steve's direction. “I think it went according to plan.”

“They planned that we'd destroy their toy?” Thor asked with a scowl. 

Fury glanced at him, but it was Logan who answered. “They were going for a baseline,” he said, one finger flicking against his bicep. “Wanted to see who'd end up on their side.   
Who'd be opposing them. What the opposition could do. They were looking for a baseline. They got more. A lot more.”

“Is that a guess, or-” Bruce let the question trail away.

Logan shook his head. “Chuck keeps tabs on these things, too,” he said. “Gyrich's been in and out of a couple of highly classified government agencies through the years, not sure if he couldn't get anything to stick, or if he was just hunting for a place he felt he could build a power base.”

“And he found it,” Natasha said.

“He did,” Fury agreed. “He's been quietly working his way into a position of power. Every time there's a mutant scare, he leveraged it for another few million. Another small department. He's tied into a lot of security councils. A lot of people with deep pockets.”

“And a lot of people fighting what they consider to be a religious war,” Logan said. “He's the pleasant face of it. Behind him?” He shook his head. “Lift a rock or two, and you'll start finding the hardcore hate groups. The kind of people who were more than happy to see their money going towards sending a very big robot after a very little girl.”

Clint raised his hand. “Don't want to be the one to point it out, but that thing was not pulling its punches, no matter who it was swinging at.”

Logan shrugged. “You chose your side when you tried to stop it,” he said. “I'm sure they wouldn't mind making an example of a few of you.”

“How'd we come to this?” Steve asked Fury. “This is-” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. “This is wrong.”

Fury nodded. “You know how it comes to this,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded against his stomach. “You, more than anyone else in this room, knows how it comes to this.”

Steve subsided, his shoulders tight. “Yes. Yes, I do.” Around the table, everyone was silent, and Steve took a deep breath. “So. How do we stop them?”

Fury smiled, just a little, a twitch of his mouth. “You keep doing just what you're doing. When they send these things out into the city-”

“Tell me they're not going to do that again,” Clint said. “C'mon. Doesn't New York have enough problems?”

“They're going to,” Logan said. “Every time they do, they scare the ones they want to scare, and attract the ones they want to attract.” 

“It's terrorism,” Rhodey said, and everyone glanced at him. “State sponsored, but...” 

Fury nodded. “Sorry,” he said to Logan, with a wry twist to his mouth. “Guess you wanted too much, too soon.”

“And this is what happens to people who challenge the status quo.” Logan nodded. “Who woulda guessed?” He rolled to his feet. “We'll send you what we've got on Gyrich. But don't get so distracted by the front that you forget to look at who's funding him.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “If they're using him, eventually he'll stop being useful. And that's when things are going to get ugly.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you.”

Logan looked over at him. “Thank you,” he said. “The girl's okay, by the way. She wanted me to say thanks.”

“Clint's the one she should be thanking," Steve said.

Logan's smile was quick and sharp. “We both know that's not true.” He pushed the door open. “Be careful. It's easy to make enemies when you step out of line.” And then he was gone.

“Who wants to bet he used to draw a government paycheck at some point?” Clint asked, leaning back in his chair. 

“I think that is an absolute certainty,” Tony said. To Fury, he said, “Just how many of these things are we dealing with?” 

Fury gave him a level look. “More than we can handle.”

Steve's chin came up. “With all due respect, sir? No such thing.”

Fury's smile was slow, but real. “If anyone can prove me wrong, Captain, it would be you.” He stood. “Heads up, people. Let's get everyone on the same page, before the landscape changes again.”

*

"Clint?"

Clint's eyes snapped open, his arm already reaching for his weapon before the soft, even sound of Jarvis' voice fully sank in. “Jay?” he asked, his fingers closing on the grip of his bow. 

“Forgive me for waking you. There is no emergency, however, I require your assistance,” Jarvis said.

Next to Clint, Phil pushed himself upright, fully conscious in an instant. "What's the situation?" he asked, reaching for his phone. He squinted down at the face of it. "It's late."

"It's early," Clint corrected, shoving the covers aside. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Way too early."

“It is both,” Jarvis agreed. “DJ had a nightmare. He requires human intervention.”

Clint nodded. “He asking for me?” he asked, slipping out of bed and heading across the room. Clothes. Clothes were a good idea. 

“He is not asking for anyone,” Jarvis admitted. “He is not responding to me. However, he has gone to the lounge, and remains there now.”

Clint glanced at Phil, who was frowning at the ceiling. “Want backup?” he asked, mostly to Clint, but with the full understanding that Jarvis could hear them. 

“Jay?” Clint asked, more focused on finding shorts that didn't have a hole in them.

“I think it best if it were Clint alone,” Jarvis said, and Phil subsided back against the pillows.

“I'll call if we need cocoa, okay?” Clint said to him, and Phil nodded. “You sure, Jarvis? He usually wants Steve, times like these.” He found a pair of sweatpants, neatly folded on top of the clean laundry. They might've been Phil's. He decided he was too tired to care, and fumbled his way into them.

There was a long moment of silence. “Not tonight,” Jarvis said at last.

“Okay, you're being cryptic, that's super not comforting,” Clint said.

“I am less than pleased with the situation as well,” Jarvis said, the words sharp. “If you are unable or unwilling to help, then-”

“Hey!” Clint spread his hands. “I'm up, I'm going, and fuck you, anyway, because any time anyone's asked me for something for that kid, I have shown up.” He snatched a shirt from the basket and stomped towards the door. “I might be useless, but I'm always there.” 

He slammed his way out of their apartment, stalking down the hallway towards the elevator. “I know I'm probably the dumbest person you have to deal with on a daily basis here, Jarvis, but can you please cut me some slack?” The doors were open and waiting, and he ducked inside.

There was a beat of silence. Then, “I apologize, Clint. The situation is... Stressful to me.”

“Okay. I get that.” Clint shoved a hand through his hair, then pulled his shirt on. “What's going on, Jarvis? Is he all right?”

"He has..." Jarvis paused. "I suppose 'regressed' is the best word that I can use to describe the situation."

"I do not like this word," Clint said, staring at the ceiling of the elevator. "That's a bad word. Jarvis, what the fuck?"

"He had a nightmare," Jarvis said. "And when he woke up, he was... Smaller."

Clint stared at the wall, not quite able to make sense of that. "Smaller."

"Younger,” Jarvis clarified.

Everything clicked. "He's- He's physically regressed," Clint said, his stomach sinking. "You're telling me he's gone back to being, uh, a little kid?"

"Yes. I do not think it was a deliberate choice on his part. He seems most agitated about the situation.”

“Yeah, I would be, too,” Clint said. He took a deep breath. “Tell me he's okay.”

“I do not believe him to be in any danger, or any pain,” Jarvis said. “But we still do not know how far his control over his physical form extends. I believe that if he is allowed to calm down, to relax, he will be able to put himself to rights.” Jarvis paused. Then, “Panic makes things harder. For him, especially.”

"Right. That makes sense." As much as any of this could make sense. Clint rubbed a hand over his eyes, taking a deep breath at the same time. "Jay? Why me?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the elevator came to a smooth stop. Clint glanced at the doors, but they didn't budge. "Jarvis?"

"This is conjecture on my part, of course," Jarvis said. "Merely my own educated guess, from observation and analysis."

"Got it, I'm not going to hold you to this, just-"

"DJ has inherited from his father certain... Traits," Jarvis said, the words careful. Almost delicate. "Like his father, he has a strong desire to live up to the expectations placed upon him, even if those expectations are unspoken. Even if they are only in his head. For his... Parents, he wants to be perfect, and is well aware that perfection is an impossible goal. But he still strives for it."

Clint scraped a hand over his face. "Right," he said at last, because Jarvis seemed to be waiting for a response. "He knows they don't care about perfect, right? They're just aiming for alive and happy?"

"It does not matter," Jarvis said, and the elevator started up again with a faint, almost imperceptible jolt. "He wants to be. And he cannot. And when he cannot, when he is aware of his own, what he would consider his failings, the presence of his parents adds to his stress. They serve as a reminder that he cannot be what he wants to be.”

Clint nodded. "And I don't."

"No. I am sure you are concerned about him and his well being, but you also simply accept that he is as he is. At the moment, I do not believe he has control over his physical state, and the lack of control has made an already stressful situation worse. He needs reassurance, not the additional stress that comes with admitting something is wrong to sir or Steve."

"Oh," Clint said, understanding dawning. "I'm the fuckup uncle."

Jarvis paused. "I do not believe that's the intent of-"

"No, no, this is great, I can be the fuckup uncle, I am fine with this," Clint said. "It's a relief. No one expects the fuckup uncle to be useful, just reassuring. No pressure from the guy who's pleased he found matching shoes at some point in his life. Great. This is great.” He held up his hands. “Fuckup uncle. I can do this, Jay, no problem.”

“Well.” Jarvis was silent for a moment. Then the elevator stopped and the doors opened. “I am glad. If you can calm him, I will be...” The words seemed to break, like an almost imperceptible burst of static. “Grateful.”

Clint smiled up at the camera. “You know? I do think you love him more than the rest of us combined.”

A sigh. “Do not be foolish.” And something like the clearing of a throat that didn't exist. “He needs you.”

“Going,” Clint said, and he was, up the dark, quiet hallway, his bare feet silent on the polished floor. There was something about the still, empty moments of the early morning, when nothing was moving, nothing was real. There was a light on in the living room, and Clint took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. “Please,” he said, under his breath, for himself and only himself. “Please don't let me make this worse. Please.”

He paused at the door. “Deej? Jarvis said you had-”

He'd been expecting it, but there was no way to prepare himself for it. DJ was buried under in a blanket, as if he was trying to hide, trying to make himself bigger the only way he knew how.

DJ peered at him from under the folds of the blanket. His nose and eyes were red, his cheeks wet. "Don't tell," he whispered, and Clint's chest ached. 

Clint crouched down in front of him. “Are you in pain?” he asked, peeking under the blanket hood. “Does anything hurt?”

Little, terrifyingly small, hands clutched at the fabric. “No,” he whispered. His mouth went tight. “Just... Small.”

“Okay.” Clint rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Okay. If I think you're sick, or in danger, I have to tell Bruce and your dad. But if you're just scared, that happens, right? We all get scared, we all get freaked out and lose it a little, right?”

DJ blinked, slow and careful. But some of the tension went out of his face. “Yes?”

“Right,” Clint repeated. “So. We're going to stay here and see if being less freaked out helps. Does that sound okay?”

DJ sniffed, and then rubbed one tiny fist against his nose. “Yes.” He sounded more sure now. More confident. His eyes flicked up to meet Clint's. “Can-” He swallowed. “Hug?”

“Yeah, hugs are good,” Clint said, opening his arms. DJ scrambled forward, pushing into the shelter of Clint's body. Clint, his chest aching, hugged him close, trying not to think about how even the weight of the blankets couldn't hide how small he was. 

It had been years since he'd been this small. He was barely bigger than he'd been when he'd first ended up as a human, and it was terrifying to hold him, to feel his little fingers pull against the fabric of his shirt. Doing his best not to think about it, Clint just held DJ close, resting his chin on top of DJ's head. “It's going to be okay,” he said, because maybe if he said it enough, they'd both believe it. “It's going to be fine. You're still you. Big. Small. Bot. Kid.” DJ's arms tightened on his neck, his fingers digging into Clint's shoulder. “You're still you.” 

Clint exhaled. “That's all that matters, Deej. You're still you. That's all you have to be.”

DJ shifted against his shoulder, his breath hot through the fabric of Clint's t-shirt. “Clint?”

“Deej?”

“Watch Star Wars?”

Clint blinked. “What?” He leaned, peering under the blanket that flopped over DJ's forehead. “Star Wars?”

DJ blinked back at him, his eyes huge and wet. “Please?”

“Are you-” Clint choked on a laugh. “Are you trying to leverage this into watching Star Wars? Despite the fact that you're not supposed to watch Star Wars, and your dad's warned me like, six times, that if I do it again that he'll have me demoted to part time security guard?”

DJ scrubbed a hand across his nose. “Might help?”

“Oh, it might help you?” Clint asked. DJ nodded, looking very serious. Clint tugged on his blanket, pulling it down over his face. “You're a manipulative little brat, you know that, right?”

“Yes,” the blanket said, and Clint flopped back on the couch next to him.

“Cool. Own it.” He reached for the remote. “Jarvis, can you keep a small amount of forbidden media a secret?”

“What would you do if I said no?” Jarvis asked.

Clint shrugged. “Watched it anyway, but I'd also find somewhere to hide for a few days.” He reached out, rubbing DJ's head with an easy hand. “Also throw in some middle of the night candy. In for a penny, in for a pound, huh, kid?”

DJ giggled, one eye peeking out from under the folds. “Thank.” He scootched closer to Clint's side, curling up tight against him, and Clint moved his arm out of the way. “Jarvis?”

“I cannot imagine anyone would inquire as to what you chose to watch tonight,” Jarvis said. “And I see no reason to offer the information.”

“We're all just rebels here,” Clint said, as DJ drew his legs up tight against his chest. “Give us a listing of all of the super secret video files from the 'Definitely not for DJ' folder, please?” The screen came up, and he glanced at DJ. “Wanna watch a cartoon, or one of the movies?”

DJ shrugged. "Clint?" Clint glanced at him, but DJ's eyes were focused on the tv. "Can Val and Franklin over?"

Missing words were not a good sign. Clint nodded. "We can ask. Steve can call Sue in the morning, see if they can come visit," he said. He was silent for a minute or two, not at all sure how far he could push this. "Are you worried?" 

DJ looked at him, his face pale in the reflected light of the screen. "Franklin."

"About Franklin, yeah." Clint shifted on the couch, kicking his legs out in front of him. "It's going to be okay. You know that, right? His family isn't going to let anything happen to him."

DJ didn't respond for a long moment, then he nodded. "Not everyone, though."

Clint's fingers twitched, going to fists before he could stop them. With a force of will, he flattened them out. "We're going to do our best," he said, because he tried not to lie to DJ. He tried his best, and even he knew there were limits to what he could do, what they could do. "To make sure nothing bad happens. To anyone." He managed a smile. "That's what we do, right?"

DJ nodded. "Yes." He looked at Clint, just for a second before his eyes slid away. "Thank."

"You can thank me by letting me watch Clone Wars episodes," Clint said.

"No," DJ said, without missing a beat.

"We're not watching New Hope again. We're not. I could recite the whole movie."

DJ snuggled down in his nest of blankets, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Don't care."

"I'm going to recite everything," Clint threatened.

"Don't care," DJ repeated.

"I'm going to do Wookie translation, too," Clint said, throwing his arms up. "And making fun of the Storm Trooper's attempts to aim. And point out how stupid the CGI stuff is."

DJ was grinning now, his eyes bright. "Okay."

"Okay?" Clint asked. "Can I read the title crawl?"

"Yes."

"Out loud? With my best Emperor Palpatine impression?"

Something like a giggle came from the depths of the blankets. "Yes."

Clint settled back. "All right, that sounds fair. Jarvis, queue it up."

*

“Hey, Jarvis, anyone up yet?” Steve walked into the shared kitchen, dropping two big paper bags onto the nearest open countertop. “I picked up bagels on my morning run.” 

“Natasha is in the solarium, tending to her plants. Bruce is in the midst of his yoga routine. Phil is reviewing some case files. The others are still asleep,” Jarvis said.

Steve grinned at the coffee machine, which was halfway through its brewing cycle. “Could you let Nat and Bruce know that I'm making eggs and bacon?” he asked. He pulled open the fridge door, peering into the depths. “See if they're interested.”

“Of course.”

Steve pulled a sack of apples and a couple of oranges out of the fridge, dropping them onto the cutting board. “Is DJ charging, or asleep?”

“Asleep.”

“Right.” Steve paused for a second, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I'll see if I can drag him out of bed.”

“He is not in bed.”

Steve paused in the act of filling the tea kettle. “Jay?”

“He is in the living room with Clint.”

The kettle clattered against the stovetop, and Steve steadied it with one hand. “He okay?” 

“Yes.”

Steve waited, but Jarvis didn't offer any further information. He stifled a sigh. Jarvis was being recalcitrant, and that was never a good sign. “Did he have a nightmare? Or did he just talk Clint into an all night marathon of the Mummy movies again?”

“He had a nightmare. They both fell asleep while watching television.”

“Right.” Steve's lips twitched. “Clint got talked into Star Wars again, didn't he?”

“It is possible that DJ implied that it would assist him in falling asleep again, yes.”

“That kid is shameless,” Steve said. He grabbed his coffee cup and headed towards the living room. A few minutes later, he leaned through the doorway. Clint was snoring softly, his arms thrown out on the back of the couch, his head tipped back at a painful looking angle. Next to him, there was a huge pile of blankets, one familiar foot poking out of the tangle of fabric. “Hey,” Steve said, his voice pitched low. “Time to wake up, you two.”

DJ's head came up first, emerging from a pile of blankets. He blinked owlishly at Steve, his face scrunched up, and Steve smiled at him. “Morning, lazybot,” he said. DJ yawned and tried to sit up, slipping off the edge of the couch to land on the ground with a thump.

Clint's head snapped up, eyes wide, his breath coming out in a strangled yelp. He jerked upright, his head twitching from side to side, confusion obvious on his face. “Deej?”

Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing as both of them stumbled towards consciousness. “You two okay?”

DJ sat up, rubbing his eyes, and Clint collapsed back against the couch, something like relief flitting over his face. “Yes. Okay. Yes. We're-” He looked at Steve for the first time, his eyes meeting Steve's for a second before sliding away. “We're fine. Right?” He looked at DJ, who was tugging on the sleeve of his pajama top. “We're okay?”

Steve's eyes narrowed. “Deej?”

DJ's fingers flexed on his blanket. “Okay,” he said. He looked up at Clint. “Okay.”

Clint huffed out a breath. “Right. We're okay,” he repeated. He smiled, and it was way too bright, way too broad. “We're okay.”

“Right,” Steve said, drawing the word out. “Deej, I got bagels. Go get cleaned up.”

“Bagel,” DJ said, drawing the word out. He stumbled to his feet, gathering up his bedding in his arms, hugging the heaps of fabric. “Cheese?”

“Yep, I got you cream cheese,” Steve said. DJ wandered past him, and he reached out, ruffling DJ's hair. “With chives.”

DJ leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thank,” he said, with a sweet little smile. Steve smiled back at him, loving him so much that it was a physical ache.

“Go put your bed back together,” he said. “And maybe we'll do waffles.”

“Waffles,” DJ said, his voice reverent, and Steve started to laugh.

“You and your father, and the carbs,” he said. He pointed up the hallway. “Go.” 

DJ went, trailing a blanket behind him on the ground, and Steve watched him go with an affectionate smile. He could almost see Tony in him sometimes, in the way he moved and the way he stood, in his moods and his quicksilver brilliance. He could see the echo of Tony in DJ's smile, in his laugh, in the way his voice rose and fell when he was excited.

But the slow, steady weight of his gaze was his own. The way he moved, awkward and sometimes too quick for his own good. His careful,economical use of words. The way he saw things, the way he listened, his gentle, bright spirit, his natural wonder, that was DJ. That was only and always DJ.

“Well, all's well that ends well, gonna go take a shower, and then grab something to-”

Steve's arm shot out, blocking the doorway so quickly that Clint ended up stumbling back a step or two. Steve's head rolled in his direction. He studied Clint as he took a sip of coffee. “What's going on?”

Clint shrugged, his hands tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants. “He had a nightmare. We watched old sci-fi.” He met Steve's eyes without flinching this time, clearly back under control. “What's to say? It happens.”

Steve's eyes narrowed. “It does,” he agreed. “And I appreciate that you were there to help him.” His eyebrows arched. “But something's going on right now, and I'd like to know what.”

Clint's head tipped to the side. “He's fine,” he said. “And you want anything else, you're going to have to talk to him.” He gave Steve a lopsided smile. “He's fine. He's-” He nodded. “He's going to be just fine, Steve.”

Steve's arm dropped to his side. “You'd tell us if there was something really wrong, right?”

“I know the rules.” Clint ducked past him, and Steve fell into step with him.

“You know the rules, but you are pretty selective about following them,” Steve said. He gave Clint a look out of the corner of his eye. “Star Wars?”

“I got much bigger battles to fight than if he wants to watch Star Wars,” Clint said. “Like, seriously, Cap, the number of hills I'm willing to die on are pretty numerous, but Star Wars was not one of them.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I'm trying not to be irrational here.”

“I appreciate that. No sarcasm. I...” Clint sighed. “I really appreciate that.”

Steve nodded. “And I'm also trying to respect his boundaries.”

“How's that working for you?”

“I'm not good at it,” Steve admitted. He glanced at Clint. “But I'm trying.”

Clint smiled. “He's hitting his teenage years, Steve. It's...” He rubbed the back of his neck, his head lolling forward. “It's gonna be fun.”

Steve nodded. “Don't know who'd be laughing more at the idea of me trying to handle a teenager,” he said. “My ma, or Bucky.”

“Yeah, it's... I'm very confused how this became my life,” Clint said. “Only thing that saves it for me is that Tony is way more confused.”

“This is absolutely true.” Steve threw his arm around Clint's shoulders. “Come on. Let's go have a nice, leisurely breakfast.”

“Are you going to glare at me the whole time?”

“Probably!” Steve said, his voice cheerful.

Clint sighed. “Yeah. I kind of thought that'd be your answer.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> (sits down)
> 
> This was a tough one to write. Hope it's a little easier to read.
> 
> Slight warnings for nightmares and scared children. Very scared children.

Steve found himself watching the skies.

It was a stupid response, and he knew it. There was nothing up there. Tony had tied the airspace around the tower in so much red tape that it'd take decades for even the federal government to get through it. He and Rhodey were the only ones who circled this building regularly, and friends could come and go without triggering the defense systems.

But where ever the damn Sentinels were today, they were not hovering above Avengers Tower. They weren't waiting at the edge of the property, looming over the street like grotesque, modern gargoyles. The world went on, as it always did, cars creeping along through the congested streets and people hustling along the sidewalks, often outpacing the vehicle traffic.

Even so, Steve caught himself watching the skies through the great glass windows of the Tower lobby, and wishing he'd brought the shield.

Next to him, DJ was curled into himself, balanced on the balls of his feet, his knees against his chest and his arms tucked in tight against his sides. Steve reached down, smoothing a hand gently over DJ's hair, and DJ looked up. His face was tense and drawn, his eyes meeting Steve's for only a second before darting away again. 

Steve tried to smile. “Hey,” he said, his hand falling back against his side. “You okay?”

DJ was nodding before he even finished asking the question, and Steve bit back a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “You didn't eat much this morning.”

DJ went back to the Rubik's Cube in his hands, his fingers flying over the surface. “Not hungry,” he said. Steve waited, hoping for more, but DJ was focused on the puzzle now, arranging the colors in complicated, irregular patterns that meant nothing to Steve.

But it was clear that they meant something to DJ, and that was all that mattered.

A familiar car pulled up into the protected loading zone in front of the doors, catching Steve's attention. Steve tapped DJ lightly on the head. “Think Val and Franklin are here,” he said, and DJ's head shot up. He scrambled to his feet with more energy than grace, all coltish awkwardness.

Val was out of the car almost before it stopped moving, running for the door as soon as her feet hit the ground. “Hi!” she said, sliding through the door. “We're here!”

Steve couldn't hold back a smile. “You sure are,” he said, as Val came bouncing up to them. “Thanks for coming.”

She screeched to a stop in front of DJ. She held up a hand, and DJ tapped his palm against hers. “Thank you for inviting us!” she said, as Franklin came across the lobby after her.

“Hi,” he said, holding up his own hand for a high five. “Hi, Cap.”

Steve smiled at him. “How're you doing?” he asked.

Franklin gave a half shrug. “Okay,” he said. He glanced back over his shoulder, his face tense as he watched his mother hand the car keys to Johnny. Only after she slipped into the lobby did he seem to relax. 

“Sorry,” Sue called, her feet moving quickly over the polished marble. “Johnny's got a thing, and Reed thought it was best if we didn't come alone, so...”

Her voice trailed away, and Steve gave her a reassuring smile. “Thanks for coming, I know it's not a convenient time, but-”

DJ tugged on his shirt. “Can we go upstairs?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course, we can do something for lunch if you-” That was as far as he got before all three of the kids took off towards the elevator. Steve stared after them, amused despite himself. “Aaaaaand they're gone.”

“Feeding them was a mistake,” Sue said.

Steve watched them head towards the elevator, bumping off of each other like pinballs in overdrive. "How're they doing?" he asked, his voice pitched low.

Sue crossed her arms over her chest. "As well as can be expected," she said. Her head canted towards Steve, her face drawn and pale. "You know. When the government apparently decides it's a good idea to unleash giant mechanical horrors to patrol the streets looking for people like them."

Steve nodded. "'Them?' Is Val-"

Sue was already shaking her head. "No, no, she's-" She waved a hand through the air. "She's not. We had them both tested, she doesn't even have the gene." She looked up at Steve, a faint, strained smile floating over her features. "But she is her brother's sister. Even if they were rational about this-"

"As rational as people like this can be," Steve said, his voice wry.

"Yes, as rational as, you know, bigots can be," Sue agreed. "But even so. If they come for her brother, she's going to be involved. On the off chance that the government doesn't make a target of her, she'll make a target of herself." This time, her smile was a little deeper, a little more real. "They're a matched set, those two. Reed keeps hinting he wants another child, and I've told him, if they outnumber us, we're doomed."

Steve choked on a laugh. "We've only got the one, and I still feel outnumbered." He paused, trying to gauge her mental state. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

She glanced at the coffee shop by the front door. "I don't..." Her voice trailed away, and she looked up at Steve, her eyes steady. "I don't want to be that far away from them."

Steve nodded. "Want to go upstairs? Pretty sure I can find something in the cabinets that won't kill you."

"You seem to think that Tony drinks stronger stuff than Reed, and I can assure you, that is not true." She nodded, just once, and then a second time. "Yes. Thank you. I'd love a drink. And more than that, I'd love a chance to talk to someone who isn't-" She shook her head. "Who is willing to discuss it."

"I take it Reed's not handling it well." Steve headed towards the elevator, Sue keeping step with him the whole way.

"Reed is...” She paused. “Used to being able to fix things, or ignore them if the insist on being impossible to fix.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as Steve punched the elevator button. “And this, this does not go easily into either of those boxes.”

“No, it doesn't.” Steve held the door for her. “How're you holding up?”

“The government is coming for my child,” Sue said, her voice flat. Her smile was thin and brittle. “So my mood is swinging wildly between 'how do I get him to the nearest boarder,' and 'how do I overthrow the current administration?'”

“Let me know which way you end up going,” Steve said, and Sue laughed. Steve smiled at her. “Oh, you think I'm kidding?”

“For my own sanity, I'm going to pretend you are,” Sue said. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the force of it. “I'm tired. That's... That's most of it. To be honest, I'm just-”

She glanced at Steve. “I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm a lousy human being, Steve, and that's hard. That's, that's a hard thing to understand.”

Steve tucked his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tipped forwards. “I don't know. You seem pretty decent from here,” he said.

“Do I?” She shook her head. “Glad to know that my mask is holding. Because I'm glad. I'm glad that even though Franklin is a mutant, I'm glad that he looks...” Her mouth worked for a second, then she spat the word out, venomous and sharp. “Normal. He's white and male and from a family that can protect him, he's a mutant that won the genetic lottery, Steve. He's middle class and whatever he can do, whatever his powers end up being, they're controllable. He's not a visible threat, he's not a visible problem, he's a good, attractive, white boy from a family with money.”

Her face was pale and taut. “He can pass. He can slip through the cracks, Steve. He can hide, for his entire life. He can pretend he's like everyone else, even if, if it comes out, if he does something someday, some manifestation of power-”

She looked at Steve. “Who would question it, when his parents are me and Reed? When his mother can turn invisible and his father can stretch like a rubber band? What's normal in this family, what's-”

She went silent. Then, “What's to prove that he's a mutant? Nothing. Nothing.”

Steve watched her, watched the way her fingers curled into fists and then flattened against her thighs. Watched the way her fingertips went transparent, fading to nothing when she tried to relax her hands.

“So I can protect him. I have the position and the power and the resources,” she said, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. “Or I can speak out against this. I can use all of that to protect the ones who aren't as lucky as he is. Who don't have anyone to speak for them. The most vulnerable ones, the ones they're going to come for first.”

She glanced away, the line of her jaw tight. “But if I do that... I expose him. I draw attention to him. I make him a focus, a target, and right now, he's not. He's safe. As safe as I can make him, and I'm finding out ugly things about myself.”

Sue looked up at Steve, her lips a thin line. “So if I'm willing to sacrifice everyone else, as long as I can protect him, what does that say about me? What does that make me, Steve?”

Steve's mouth twitched, a soft, sad smile. “I'm pretty sure that makes you a parent, Sue. One who loves her children.”

She huffed out a breath, her shoulders slumping. “I'm almost certain that's not true, but thank you.”

“Almost certain it is,” Steve said. “Sue, look, it's none of my business, really, but I think you have to give yourself more than a week to get used to the idea of government sponsored giant robots hunting children under the thin guise of protecting the population before you determine what you're going to do, or how you're going to handle it. 

“Of course your first, kneejerk response is to protect Franklin. I mean-” He shrugged. “I think that would be your first reaction no matter what the threat is. It's just harder here, because he is more at risk than the average child.”

“But far more protected than the average mutant,” Sue said. She shook her head. “You're telling me that in the same situation, you'd choose DJ over a city full of more vulnerable children?”

Steve took a deep breath. “In a heartbeat.”

Sue let out a soft chuckle. “I don't believe that at all, Captain America, but thank you anyway.”

The elevator doors opened, and Steve touched Sue's elbow. He waited until she met his eyes, and then he smiled. “Franklin's a very lucky boy,” he said. “Not just because he does look quote unquote normal, not because he can pass as normal, but because he has a mother who will defend, to her death, his right to exist, as he is. No matter what he can do, or how he chooses to live his life. He's got a mother who will fight for him, no matter what.”

Sue stared at him, her eyes suddenly bright. “I'm going to hug you now,” she said, and Steve laughed.

“Think I can handle that,” he said, spreading his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder. Steve patted her gently on the back. “We'll do everything we can to protect him, you know that, right? To protect all of them.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder. “I know.” Another moment, and she pulled away, her cheeks wet, her nose red. “I know that. And more importantly, Franklin knows that.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve offered her an arm. “Let's go make some coffee. Jarvis'll let us know if they need anything, and I don't know about you, but I could desperately use some caffeine.” 

She took it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, her chin coming up. “Who needs sleep?”

Steve laughed. “No one in this household, honestly.”

*

“Do you want to watch something else?”

DJ looked up at the movie, where some rather creepy looking undead were shambling across the screen. He looked back at Franklin. “No.” Franklin studied him, and DJ tried again. “I like 'Paranorman.'”

Franklin nodded. “Me, too.” He shifted, flopping face down on one of the massive beanbags. “But it's a little creepy. So it was nice of you to let me choose the movie, but if you don't want to watch it, we don't have to watch it.”

DJ blinked at him, and Val leaned over her folded legs. “You seem a little-” Her head tipped to the side. “Upset. Mom wasn't going to let us come today, but you never ask, not like this, and I said to Mom that maybe you were-” She bit her lip. “Scared?”

“Are you?” DJ asked her.

“Yes,” Val said. She frowned. “And no.”

“But mostly yes,” Franklin mumbled into the beanbag. He stared up at the movie, his face tense. “So I didn't want to stay home. Things are complicated. At home.”

DJ nodded. A storm raged in the movie, and he resisted the urge to cover his ears. “Do you have bad dreams?”

Val glanced at him. “Yes,” she said. She pulled her legs up, her glittering pink sneakers scraping against the carpet as she wrapped her arms around her knees. “Everyone does, I guess.”

Franklin snorted, and rolled over to lay on his back, his head tipped up towards the movie. “Uncle Johnny says he doesn't.”

Val gave him a look. “Uncle Johnny lies. A lot.” She tucked a long strand of pale hair behind her ear. “Dad had to develop flame proof bedding for a reason, you know, Franklin.”

Franklin picked at the seam of his pant leg. “I didn't know that was why,” he said. His fingernail scraped against the thread, digging into the fabric. He sat up and looked at his sister. “How do you know that?”

“I pay more attention than you,” Val said, and it wasn't mean, the way she said it. She didn't look at Franklin, and she didn't look at DJ, either. She just stared at the tv, her eyes hidden behind the sweep of her lashes. “And people don't pay attention to me the way they do you.” She shifted her weight, leaning forward to rest her chin on her knees. “Do you, DJ? Have bad dreams, I mean?”

DJ bit chewed on his bottom lip. “Everyone does,” he said, and Val's head tipped in his direction, a slight smile on her lips. He tried to smile back. “Don't they?”

“Yes.” She looked at Franklin, who shrugged, his shoulders twitching up. She heaved a sigh, and turned back to DJ. “DJ? Do... Do you want to talk about it?”

DJ stared at the tv. “When I was-” He stopped, unsure of how to make the concept fit what he was, what he had been. “New,” he said, and that word wasn't right, but his words often weren't right. He was used to it. Used to the frustration of words being wrong, or being just right enough that he could use them without worrying that he'd confuse everyone. “Back when I was just Dummy, I got-” His fingers rubbed against the curve of his knee, back and forth, trying to ease the ache there. “Lost.”

Franklin frowned. “Like, outside, or in the building, or-”

“In a box,” DJ explained. “When dad was moving. I was... Damaged.” His toes flexed against the floor. “And new. I had been packed up. And the box was, it was lost.” The words came out faster than he'd expected, as if he'd been practicing without realizing it. “I waited, until my battery ran down. Then, I went to sleep.”

Franklin nodded, but Val's eyebrows drew up. “How long?” DJ looked at her. “DJ, how long did you wait?”

He blinked, slow and deliberate. “A while.” Days. Weeks. His heartbeat accelerated and he made a deliberate effort to stop thinking about it. He could do that. He had to do that. “It was okay. Because I was new. My programming was...” He managed a smile. “Simple. I didn't have to think about much. It was small, and dark, and silent. I couldn't move, and there was nothing to... There was nothing there. I ran diagnostics until my battery ran out, and I...” DJ made a face. “Shut down. Went to sleep.”

“Did Tony, did your dad find you?” Franklin asked, and DJ nodded. 

Val twisted a long strand of hair around her finger, tight enough to make the tip go red. “That's your nightmare?” she asked.

DJ stared down at his feet. “I'm lost again,” he said, his voice soft. “But I'm DJ. Not Dummy. And I can't change. And I know-” He swallowed, not sure why his own throat fought him. “I know that I'm lost. I know I'm trapped. And I know-” 

He looked up, blinking fast. “To be afraid.”

They were silent, both of them staring at him, their faces unreadable. He was used to that. He had trouble with faces, because people made their faces do things that were lies. People smiled when they weren't really happy and they pretended they weren't angry when they were. DJ didn't trust faces, because there was something about them, about understanding the way that the pieces fit together, that he'd never quite grasped.

His eyes dropped to Val's fingers, which were tangled in her hair, twisting the strands in a tiny, intricate braid. Her hands were steady, and DJ felt some of the tension go out of his shoulders. Faces lied, but other things, other things were harder to hide. He was pretty sure it was because people didn't think about them. That made them more...

Honest. Or maybe trustworthy. He didn't know the right word.

He never knew the right word. 

“Are you scared of the dark?” Franklin asked. DJ thought about that, then shook his head. Franklin nodded. His teeth, white and straight, worried at the edge of his thumbnail. “Val was afraid of the dark.”

Val's mouth went thin. “And you were afraid of water,” she said, her knees coming up again. The braid, abandoned, slid over her shoulder, the ends unraveling with the small movement. Val buried her face behind her knees, her eyes peeking out over the top of them. 

“Yeah,” Franklin said. He scrubbed his nail against his jeans. “I kinda still am.” He looked at DJ. “Are you afraid of small places? I mean, you have a lot of, like, hidey spots and they're all small.”

DJ considered that question. “I am afraid of that small space,” he said at last, each word careful. “It's... Specific.”

“I would be, too,” Val said. She gave a slight nod. “That seems smart.”

“You haven't told anyone about this?” Franklin asked. “Your dad? Or Steve?” DJ shook his head, and Franklin frowned. “Why not? You should tell someone, Deej.”

DJ blinked at him. “I just did,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but-”

“Your dad didn't put you- I mean, he wasn't the one that packed you up, was he?” Val asked. DJ shook his head. Val's eyes narrowed, into thin slits. When she did that, the blue disappeared, and it was just the dark hollow of her iris that showed. “How did you get lost?”

“He wanted me lost,” DJ said, and neither of them asked who 'he' was. DJ was glad. He wasn't sure he could explain without losing track of the words. He didn't have words for most of this. He was making it up as he went along. “He wanted me gone. So he lost me. Dad found me. It's okay. Creat-” He stopped, his nose wrinkling. “My dad found me.”

Val's fingers stroked through her hair, the movement slow and idle. And then she started to braid again. “You don't tell because he'd feel guilty for losing you,” she said, and DJ's heart skipped a beat. His eyes jerked up to meet hers, and Val twisted the braid around her palm. “He doesn't know you remember, does he?”

DJ watched as her fingers went white as the braid tightened on her skin. “I don't... He doesn't... Think about it,” he said, the words halting. “They forget. That I am, I am still me.” That wasn't right, and he had to stop and think about it, think about the syntax, the rhythm, the way that words worked, what it meant. “That I have always been me.”

“Adults don't think kids know about things,” Val said. She tossed her head from side to side, the movement sudden and almost violent, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, around her face. “I think they tell themselves we don't, because it makes them uncomfortable if they have to think about us thinking about things.”

Franklin gave her a look. “That almost made sense,” he said, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“DJ understood me,” she said, and DJ found that he had.

“A little,” he said, because he didn't want to try to explain it to Franklin.

“Do you feel better? Because you talked about it?” Franklin asked. He tugged idly at one of his shoelaces. “Sometimes it helps.”

“Does it help you?” DJ asked. Franklin shrugged, his head down, and DJ nodded. Maybe that made sense. Maybe he didn't need it to make sense. Maybe he didn't know what did and didn't make sense anyway. 

“You never know what'll help until you try it,” Val said. Her fingers slid through her hair, separating the strands, then twisting them back together. Apart. Together. It was comfortable, familiar, and DJ focused on the way the light slide over her hair, changing the texture with each movement. “Trying stuff is scary. But sometimes you have to do it, because if you don't, well, you'll never find something that works.”

“It's easier to follow Val's advice when it comes to, like, engines, than adult stuff,” Franklin said. He smiled at DJ. “But she's usually right.”

“I'm always right,” Val said, her voice smug.

Franklin's eyes flicked up towards the ceiling. “Val. You're NINE.”

“Mom says I'm very mature for my age,” Val said, her chin up. “She never says that about you. Have you noticed that?” Her eyelashes fluttered. “I've noticed that.”

“You would notice that,” Franklin said. He stretched out a leg, bumping DJ's foot with his. “You okay?” 

DJ thought about that. Nodded.

“Will you-” Franklin made a face, his nose scrunching up. “Will you tell us if you're not?”

That was a strange thought. DJ took a deep breath. “I'll... Try,” he said.

Franklin and Val exchanged a look, a look that DJ always thought of as their 'sibling glance.' They could communicate without having to talk, and he envied that, he envied the way they could read each other, could see things and hear things that no one else could, when it came to each other.

Then Val reached out, touching his hand, and DJ realized that he was clutching the fabric of his shirt so hard that his knuckles were white. “It's okay if you can't,” she said, and when she smiled, her face scrunched up, all chubby cheeks and bright teeth. “We'll figure it out.”

DJ took a breath, and when he exhaled, something went with it. Something he couldn't define. “I'm... Gonna bot now,” he said, the words so hard that he could barely manage them.

“Want us to go, or stay?” Franklin asked immediately.

“Stay,” DJ said.

“If you are going to be Dummy, can I oil you joints?” Val asked. She gave DJ a pleading look. “Or if you don't want me to, I can just watch the movie.”

DJ smiled at her. “Don't have anything here,” he managed, the words heavy on his tongue. “I can-”

“I'll go get something from the workshop, okay?” She waited until DJ nodded, and then she was on her feet, scrambling across the playroom floor towards the door. “Change while I'm gone, I'll be right back!”

Franklin watched her go, his hands braced on the ground on either side of his hips. “She just wants to help,” he said to DJ.

“Know.” DJ wrestled his shirt off, everything taking too much effort, and more energy than he had. He was exhausted, and the lack of sleep was like a physical weight on his thin frame. His shoulders ached with it, his back bowed. His shirt fluttered to the ground. “It's... It's okay.”

“If you want us to just watch the movie, I'll make her, it's okay if you want to be left alone, DJ.” Franklin turned to face the tv, politely giving DJ some privacy. “We're happy to just be here with you. It's...” His voice trailed away. “Home's hard now.”

DJ nodded. “Yes.” He kicked his pants aside. “Stay here. With me. Safe. Safe here.”

Franklin nodded. “Yeah. I know.” He held up a hand. “Can I have a high five?”

DJ took a deep breath, and let it out, and then there was no need for breathing. Things went flat and stable, all the confusing feelings and exhaustion and strain gone in an instant. Just like that, he was balanced and controlled and things made sense.

And he missed the warmth of the air, and the scratchy-soft weight of his shirt against his skin. He missed the smell of oil and citrus, and the flex of is toes against the carpet. He missed being able to reach out and feel Franklin's hand against his, but when his claw tapped Franlin's palm, Franklin looked back at him and smiled.

Dummy settled down next to him, and Franklin reached up, his fingers gentle against his main support strut. “You're safe here, too,” he said, his voice quiet, and Dummy's head dipped in a nod.

'Safe' was a concept he wasn't quite sure of anymore.

*

“Tell me I have to do this.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Jarvis said, “You have to do this, sir.”

Tony shook his head, something like a laugh slipping out from his tight lips. “And here I was hoping you'd point out that I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.”

“That is both incorrect and also not what you wanted to hear at this moment.” Jarvis stopped. “Is it?”

Tony rolled his shoulders. “When did you gain insight into the human condition, Jay? Was this, when was this allowed? I disapprove.” He pointed in the general direction of the nearest camera. “Want to make that clear. This is my disapproval face.”

“I apologize for overstepping my programming, sir-”

“Oh, wow, that is a lie, that is a huge, shameless lie.”

Jarvis ignored him. “And yet, I was created to provide you with the help you required, not the help you wanted.” 

“That was pretty fucking stupid of me,” Tony said. He scrubbed his hands against his hips, hard enough to make his palms sting. “Jay?” He raised a hand. “Tell me if I fuck this up.”

“You will not, sir.”

“Well, glad one of us believes in me right now.” Before he could change his mind, Tony bounced his knuckles against the door in a rapid, staccato pattern. “You awake?” he called.

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened, DJ peeking around the barrier. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a ragged t-shirt that Tony was pretty sure he recognized. His feet were bare, his toes burrowing into the carpet. “Yes,” he said, and Tony smiled at him, affection sweeping over him in a wave.

“Yeah, I can see that now.” He waved a hand at DJ's room. “Can I come in?”

Another moment of consideration, and then DJ nodded. He stepped back, out of the way, and headed back across the room to his bed. Tony wandered after him, a few steps behind. DJ's ankles were clearly visible under the cuffs of the pajama pants, and Tony wondered when he'd gotten so big.

“We need to update the furniture in here, don't we?” he said, spinning DJ's desk chair with an idle hand. “You're getting too old for this stuff.”

He looked up and found DJ staring at him, his face tense, his fingers locked on the hem of his shirt. Tony blinked at him. “Hey, what's-” He stopped, figuring it out a second too late. Which was, after all, his parenting style in a nutshell.

Tony flipped the chair around and sank down into it, balancing himself on the child-sized seat. “Deej.” DJ's eyes flicked up towards his, and Tony smiled at him. “I'm sorry. We're not going to do anything to your room without your permission. We're not going to take your things. This is your space. You control it.” 

He tapped his fingers on the side of the chair. “But we bought this stuff when you were small, and we bought stuff we thought you would like, more than you picking it. You're getting bigger. And you're outgrowing some of your stuff. So you can think about if you want to change it, if you want to get something you can grow into, rather than, you know, squeezing yourself into something that doesn't fit anymore.”

He leaned back. “Okay?”

DJ nodded, but his fingers no longer had a death grip on his shirt. “Hate change.”

Tony grinned at him. “Yeah, you get that from me. And turned it up to eleven.”

That won him a small smile. DJ sank down onto the couch next to his bed, pushing a few pillows out of his way so he could tuck his legs up next to him. “Bunk beds?”

Tony chuckled. “Maybe. Stop falling over when you're standing still on the floor, and I'll consider giving you the ability to hurt yourself when you're asleep.”

DJ made a face at him, and Tony rolled the chair across the room, his feet pushing comically against the floor. “Yes, yes, your life is hard and everything's unfair.”

“It is,” DJ said, with a slight nod. He blinked at Tony, his face utterly serious. “It is.”

Tony spun the chair around so he could fold his arms on the back of it, bracing one foot on the mini sofa that was positioned in front of DJ's bed. A handful of old toys were piled up there on the cushions, mixed with some discarded clothing and a stack of books. He reached out, picking up a stuffed bear. “So. You've been having nightmares again.”

He glanced up just in time to see DJ's face twist into an expression of frustration. "Jarvis, you rat," he mumbled into his folded arms.

Tony blinked at him. “No, it wasn't-”

"I am sorry," Jarvis said, cutting him off, and DJ reared up, throwing a pillow at the nearest camera.

"No, you're not," he said, glaring up at it. "You're-" His mouth worked, trying desperately to force the single word out. "Not," he managed, and it seemed like a victory of sorts. He slumped back, his shoulders heaving with the force of his breathing. "Not."

"Hey." Tony leaned forward, the chair rocking on its wheels. "You know the rules. You know how this works. He's not allowed to keep secrets if you are in pain or frightened. He can't do it. You agreed to that." He leaned in, his eyebrows arching. "Right?"

DJ tucked his knees up against his chest. His shoulders were jerking with the force of his breathing, and he nodded, a sharp twitch of his head.

Tony straighened up. "Can I-” He waved a hand up at the couch “Can I join you?" he asked, his voice quiet. DJ nodded again, his toes flexing against the fabric of the couch. Tony smiled. "Thank you."

He picked up a few books, a sketchpad, and a stack of mismatched socks, shifting them over to the chair so there was room for him to sit down next to DJ. He took a breath, and let it out, slow and careful. He shifted, his legs stretched out in front of him. "I need to talk about this, Deej. I know that's probably hard for you. It's okay if you don't talk back." He looked at DJ, meeting DJ's eyes without flinching. "Is that okay?"

DJ burrowed down behind his knees. "Yes," he said at last.

"Thank you." Tony folded his hands against his stomach. “I remember what happened. But not so-” He stopped, his mouth going tight. “I don't remember much, Deej, if I'm being honest. It's there, but I'm hazy on the details, which, let's face it, that's pretty much how I live my life.” He let his head fall back. “Hazy on the details.”

He took a deep breath. “It's easy to assume everyone else is just as hazy as I am,” he said. He glanced at DJ, who was staring at him, dark eyes unblinking from behind the rise of his knees. “But I suppose you weren't drinking as much as I was, back then.”

“No.” DJ's voice was soft, but there was a hint of a giggle to the single word, and Tony smiled at him.

“And let's face it, I was drinking a hell of a lot,” Tony said. He paused. “I noticed you weren't where you should be, as soon as I got to California, Deej. But there were all these things, and my life was upside down, and there was that drinking thing, you may not have noticed the drinking, but-”

“Noticed,” DJ said.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I figured.” His fingers twitching, wanting to reach out to his child so much that it was a physical ache. But he held himself still. Gave DJ some space. Gave DJ what he needed, because that was the important thing. That was the only thing.

Instead, Tony picked up a toy from the pile, without even looking. Something to do with his hands. “I left you alone for a long time, and I'm sorry about that.” He paused. “I've left you waiting a lot, haven't I?” He glanced up, meeting DJ's eyes. “How much of your life has been spent waiting for me to remember you exist?”

DJ's eyebrows dipped low. “You remember,” he said. “You never forget. But I didn't...” He straightened up, his fingers still locked on the fabric of his pants. “I didn't need you.”

“Didn't you?” He didn't even think, it was just instinct, his hand reaching out, his fingers stroking over DJ's hair. But DJ leaned into the contact, his eyes closing for an instant. “Well, that's disappointing.”

DJ smiled. “Was... Different before.” His eyelashes fluttered. “Didn't think. Much. Things were simpler. I was simpler.”

“Even so,” Jarvis said. “Even when you were new, without sir, you never quite functioned properly.”

“Well, even with sir, he didn't function properly,” Tony pointed out, and DJ giggled against his knees. Tony grinned at him. “Oh, you think that's funny, do you?” DJ nodded, and Tony nodded back. “Right. You would.” He shifted, moving closer, his arm thrown across the back of the couch. “But I left you behind a lot. And this was... This was the first time I left you behind, wasn't it?”

DJ blinked. “Yes.”

Tony nodded again. “This was the first time you were taken away. And it took me a while to find you, to bring you back where you belonged. It was the first time you were alone. It was the first time you were...” He tried to smile. “You were forgotten.”

“Didn't forget,” DJ repeated. “You didn't.”

“Right,” Tony said, because nothing had mattered back then, nothing had mattered other than his own pain and the ways he made it go away. Or at least made it more bearable. “Then it was the first, and last, time when you were left all alone, and I think, I think your human side doesn't want that. Is afraid of that.”

DJ's eyes slid away from Tony's, his face pale and set.

Tony took a deep breath. “Someone is always coming for you,” he said, trying to make that calm. Steady. “I can't promise it'll always be me, Deej. I know-” He stopped, his throat closing up on the words. “I know I can't promise that. I try hard not to lie to you, because I know that's something you need, that's something I need, too. To try not to lie to you. Especially when it's something like this. When it's important.

“So I can't promise you that the person who comes for you, the person who finds you, is going to be me. We both know that's the truth. There's no promises like that, not right now.” He tried to smile, and it wasn't his best effort, but it wasn't a lie the way so many of his smiles were.

He glanced at DJ. “But it's not just me. I'm not the only one who-” He reached out, his fingers ghosting over DJ's hair. “It's not just you and me anymore. There's all these other people in our life now, and I'm not sure how that happened, when that happened, but you've got more than me.” and thank God for that.”

DJ blinked at him, slow and deliberate, like a camera shutter flicking shut. He didn't say anything, barely breathed, but some of the strain bled out of his shoulders.

“Someone's always going to come for you,” Tony said, because repetition was key for them. For DJ. For him, too, saying it made it believable, made it true. “Steve. Clint. Bruce, or Phil, or Rhodey. Pepper or Nat or Agent Nanny. Thor or Jane, or Darcy.” He leaned in, catching DJ's eyes. “Val and Franklin's parents. Or Fury. Thor's mom, or Rhodey's mom.” He reached out, his hand cupping DJ's cheek, coaxing his head up. “Strange or Logan or-”

The words broke in his throat, and he took a deep breath. “We're not alone anymore, you and I. We've got back up.” He smiled, and it ached, it hurt, in the best way, because DJ was staring at him, unblinking, unmoving. Tony smiled at him, because it was okay. It was going to be okay. He had to believe that. “Someone is always, always, always going to come for you. And you have one job, Deej, and that is to stay safe, and stay alive, until one of us gets there.

“You're never going to be forgotten. You're never going to get left behind. Someone is always going to be coming for you. I promise you. Someone is always going to come for you.”

DJ's eyes slid shut, and Tony smoothed the tears from his cheek with a swipe of his thumb. “Do you believe me?” he asked. “It's okay if you don't. It just means I have to keep telling you. Keep reminding you. Until you do believe me.”

DJ nodded, his skin warm against Tony's hand. Tony smiled, and it didn't hurt the way the way he'd expected it to. “I want you to remember that. It might not make the nightmares stop, we both know that nightmares are, they're weird things, Deej. But if you remember, maybe next time you have one, you'll know.

“Someone is coming for you. As soon as they can. We love you, we won't forget you.” Tony leaned in, pressing a kiss to DJ's hair. “Someone is always going to come for you, Deej. Always. As long as someone's still out there, we're going to find you. I promise.”

DJ leaned forward, his arms going around Tony's neck with sudden, desperate strength. He latched on, and Tony wrapped his arms around him, holding on tight. “Someone is coming for you,” he whispered. “Always. And if you find yourself back in that box, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby, I hope you never do, but if you do-”

He closed his eyes, hugging DJ tight. “Try to believe that, okay?”

There was no response, and for a long moment, he just sat there, rocking DJ back and forth, swaying a bit in his seat, until DJ's grip on his shoulders started to relax. “Okay, buddy? We okay?”

Silence. Then, “I believe he is asleep, sir.”

Tony blinked. “What?” He lifted his head. “DJ?”

DJ was flopped against his shoulder, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open. His breathing was soft and even, his face relaxed, and Tony shook his head. “He... He fell asleep.” He looked up. “Jay. He fell asleep on me.”

“I believe this conversation was something of a relief to him,” Jarvis said, his voice soft. “And he has not slept well in some time.”

Tony knew what that was like. “Of all my traits to inherit,” he said, settling DJ back on the couch, “you had to choose the insomnia. C'mon kid, what are you thinking?” He glanced up at DJ's bed, but trying to move him seemed like a bad idea. Instead, he started moving the rest of the junk off of the couch. “This is pretty much the worst thing you could choose.”

When the cushions were clear, he grabbed a pillow and blanket, and shifted DJ into a fully prone position. “There you go,” he said, but it was still wrong. He crouched down next to the couch, his fingers pushing DJ's hair back. He looked so young still, but Tony could see the hints of the adult he'd become in his face, and it hurt. 

Tony reached down, picking up a familiar toy from the pile. “Don't grow up too quickly, okay, kid?” he whispered, tucking Furbro into the curve of DJ's arm. “Your breaking your old man's heart.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “Jarvis, can you watch over him?” he asked.

“I always have, sir.”

Tony nodded. “I know. Thank you, Jay.”

There was a pause, then, “You did well, sir.”

Tony's eyes slid shut. “Glad one of us thinks so.” With one last glance back at his sleeping child, he headed for the door. “Glad someone does.”

*

Steve heard the bedroom door open and waved a hand in Tony's direction. “Have you seen this trash?” he asked, scowling down at the file in his hands. “I swear, if they even try to move forward with this, I'm going to march down there myself and start knocking heads together, this is absolutely-”

Tony walked across the room, and, without a word, threw himself onto the bed. Steve frowned, reaching out to stroke a hand over Tony's hair. “Tony?” he asked, cautious now. “What's-”

“Can we not talk about it?” Tony rolled over, his back to Steve for a second, and Steve set his file aside. Tony's shoulders were set and tight. “Just... Just once, can we not talk about things, can I just...” 

His voice trailed away, and Steve shifted on the bed. “Can you come here?” he asked, holding out a hand. Tony flopped over, just far enough for to peer at Steve, his face tight. Steve smiled at him. “And I won't ask you what's going on in that head of yours.”

Tony pushed himself up, moving across the bed. “For how long?”

“For now,” Steve said. Tony gave him a look, and he smiled. “What did you expect, Stark?”

Tony collapsed next to him with a groan, burying his face in Steve's stomach. “Simple human compassion,” he groused, one hand sliding under Steve's shirt, his fingers rough against Steve's skin.

“I'll work on that,” Steve said, stroking his hair. He could feel Tony's breath against the hollow of his navel, hot through the fabric of his shirt. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.” Tony's fingers traced intricate patterns on Steve's skin, his breathing smoothing out. “Sorry.”

Steve smoothed a hand over his hair, pushing it back so he could catch a peek of Tony's face. “For what?”

Tony's shoulders twitched in something like a shrug. “For being like this,” he said, and Steve's chest ached.

“Actually,” he said, shifting his legs, “I was just thinking that this was progress.” Tony's fingers stilled, and Steve went back to stroking his hair. “Usually, when you're upset, you tend to-” He stopped, trying to find a diplomatic way of saying it. “Find something that needs fixing down in the workshop.”

“Do I now,” Tony said, but he turned his head into Steve's palm, some of the tension seeping out of his body.

“Sometimes,” Steve said. “It's okay. It means I know just where to find you.”

Tony's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Steve's pants, tickling at the sensitive skin just below his belly button. “Are you saying I'm easy to predict?”

“Sometimes.” Laughing, Steve caught his hand, pinning it against his stomach. “It's one of your more charming traits.” He tangled his fingers with Tony's as Tony's head came up.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Is it what?” Steve asked.

“Charming.” Tony made a face, then twisted around, his body rolling away from Steve's “Don't answer that.”

“I find it works for me,” Steve said. He moved the file to the bedside table, and slid down into the bed. He wrapped an arm around Tony's waist, tucking his body up against Tony's back. “You don't have to be charming all the time, you know.”

“And thank God for that, because I am absolutely incapable of putting up a front all of the time,” Tony said. He sounded tired, and Steve ducked his head, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Tony shuddered against him. “Don't ask me about this.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “What do you need?”

Tony's fingers touched his, and Steve turned his palm up so that Tony could grasp his hand. “Tell me-” He stopped. “Nothing. I don't need anything. This is fine.”

Steve kissed his neck again. “I love you,” he said, and Tony's shoulders twitched. Steve smiled against his skin. “I love you.”

“God, I am predictable, aren't I?” Tony said, and Steve choked on a laugh.

“Tony?” Steve squeezed his fingers. “We all need reassurance sometimes.”

For a long moment, Tony just breathed, and Steve raised their linked hands, his knuckles just brushing against the hard rim of the arc reactor. “What do you need?” Tony asked at last.

Steve thought about that. “This is good,” he said. “And when you're ready to talk, will you talk to me?”

Tony exhaled. “Can't I just blow you?” he asked, and Steve muffled his laughter against his shoulder. “No. Seriously, I'm good at that, I'm really good at that, and I'm not-”

Steve untangled their bodies, pushing Tony onto his back and moving over him, his knees braced on either side of Tony's hips, his hands on the mattress on either side of his head. “While I do enjoy that-”

“You enjoy that a lot,” Tony said, and it was okay, because he was smiling, his face relaxed, and his eyes bright. “I know. I can tell that, there's certain signs that-”

Steve leaned in, cutting him off with a kiss. Tony arched up into the contact, his breath soft against Steve's lips when they finally broke apart. “I love you,” he whispered, and Tony reached up, hooking a fingertip in the neckline of Steve's shirt, trying to tug him back down. “Talk to me. When you can.”

“I love you, so I'll try,” Tony whispered back. “Good enough?”

Steve leaned down, this kiss soft and reverent. “Good enough,” he agreed.


End file.
